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ooffmlsorry · 6 months

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OP Men Dating a "Girly Girl"

A/N: sorry this took so long and I haven't posted anything original in a minute my life is mess and I'm so very tired jfc...I know this isn't more than my usual group but I was just gonna stop at Luffy and then decided to add Ace and Sabo as a thank you because writing these and putting them on Tumblr has been really good for me, so thank you for always being here to indulge me 🥲 ❤️

Sanji, Zoro, Law, Luffy, Ace, Sabo

Sanji

Let's be honest, girly-girls drive Sanji craaaazzzzyy (not that all women don't, but he's definitely more partial to the feminine ones) Your make-up, pretty skirts and dresses, jewelry, and manicure, he can't help fawn over you constantly 😍Although you do it because you enjoy it, it's nice that your efforts are so appreciated!!

He spoils you soooo baaaddd!! He literally can't help himself when he sees something pretty or cute that reminds him of you, he has to get it for you. You're drowning in squishmallows at this point.

A river of blood shoots from him every time you show off a new outfit. You're going to kill him and he'll thank you for it.

Dressing up in nice outfits together, especially on date night, is a shared activity that you love to do together. Y'all are living your best happily ever after lives.

Ya'll definitely have scheduled self-care nights. You put on some slow music, open a bottle of wine, draw a bubble bath, all that.

He's utterly useless when it comes to helping you pick your outfits or makeup if you're stuck because he loves you in everything, it's too hard for him to pick. You're his perfect, beautiful Y/N-swaaaaan 😍💖💖✨

He does love to see you in pink or red though so he might default to those colors

Don't try to test your makeup on him lol, you're going to re-awaken the gender identity crisis...I mean Kamabakka trauma

Listen...I'm not saying Sanji has a mommy kink...I'm not even at Whole Cake Island so idk wtf is going on there. All I'm saying is if you give this man a bath, wrap him in a towel to dry him off, and rub him down with luxurious lotions and oils, you might awaken something...that's all...👀

ZORO

He has no clue wtf you're doing. If it weren't for the fact that there's no proof that witches exist in this world, he'd think you are one

He looks at your vanity full of serums, creams, scrubs, lotions, etc, not to mention the makeup and he's like "??????" Just completely baffled

But what do you expect? This man would use that five-in-one Irish Spring soap if he could.

Just because he doesn't understand it doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate and admire the fact that you have extensive knowledge in something he can't even comprehend

He knows you like nice shiny things, and again, while he doesn't get it, he does think it's really, really cute when you go starry-eyed over a necklace or an outfit in a store.

In the same vein, he knows how much you love cute things and animals. He has absolutely found a cute animal in the jungle, picked it up, and brought it to you just to show you because he knew you'd love it.

Sometimes in his own gruff way he'll agree with you that it's pretty cute. Thank you for helping this manly man admit things are cute and that's okay.

Other times, he's the one making sure you don't get distracted because it's so cute

Unfortunately and fortunately, you're pretty to him no matter what you do to yourself so it's all kind of a moot point to him.

You can try to ask him about which 'x' to wear, sometimes it's helpful because he'll throw out a really practical answer and then other times he's like "How 'bout you just go naked" 😏.

He'll wear a face mask with you like...twice a year. And he's going to bitch and moan about it but he does it because he loves you. The entire process is like trying to give a cat a bath "WHY IS IT SO COLD? THIS STAYS ON MY FACE FOR HOW LONG???"

Exfoliate this man at your own risk...I'm dead serious that water is going to be brown

LAW

I need you to know right now this man will let you paint his nails!!! I mean, not like gel or acrylics or anything, but he'll let you paint them any color as long as it's a dark shade of that color. You once designed Bepo on his middle fingers. He did in fact flip people off a lot more often when he had them.

Let's you wear a pastel boiler suit because you he loves you and wants to see you happy

Much like Zoro, he's got no clue what you're doing. He'll stand back and watch you while making the exact same face as the gif above.

He thinks he's being stealthy peaking around a corner to watch your morning or night routine, but you quickly catch on. Please please pleeaaassee ask him if he has any questions because he does. He's just really curious why you're doing what you're doing and what it does. It's basically skin medicine and he's really fascinated.

Knowing that you like shiny things makes his life admittedly a little easier, it's not that he doesn't think of what to gift you, he puts A LOT of thought into what he gives you, but knowing that earrings, necklaces, and bracelets always make you happy is great just in case of analysis paralysis or he forgets. Sorry.

Also you wearing the jewelry he gets you does something to him, especially a necklace he can pull on a little, mmhhm you're making this man struggle with impure thoughts.

You both love cute things, it's something y'all connect on. It's really good that you help him access that very neglected inner child of his and encourage him to coo and fawn over adorable animals with zero reservation.

He'll do skincare with you too when he's not super busy. He can admit it's kind of nice to sit in bed with a book, glass of wine, and a face mask and just bask for a minute

He acts like he hates when you rub serums across his face and use a derma roller on him but he loves it

Law doesn't really pay attention to your clothes, but when you really go all out he breaks out in a sweat and he can't keep his eyes off you.

LUFFY

I'm not saying he thinks it's stupid, it just...why have an hours long care routine when you could be going on adventure with him??? 😭😭😭

He will help you pick out your makeup but don't expect it to look good. You're gonna end up with neon orange eyeshadow and green lipstick. Like literally every "My Boyfriend Does My Makeup" youtube video.

Plays around with your stuff but that's because he has no idea what all these strange contraptions are. The moment you try to explain his eyes glaze over and next thing you know he's whisking you away to go do something more fun.

He likes the shiny bright stuff (highlighter), makeup probably is the only part he even remotely engages in because it's

Explain how contour works to this man and watch him lose his fucking mind, he thinks you're a shape shifter now (honestly this applies to all of them except Law and maybe Sanji)

He never notices what you wear, Nami is gonna have smack him on the back of the head to get him to realize you put on something fancy

Luffy points out everything, it just so happens that things he points out sometime happen to be cute animals

Hides in all the stuffed animals and squishmallows in your room to surprise attack hug you

*throws mud at you* "Is this the kind of mud you like, Y/N??" He really means well though.

You know those hair masks with all natural ingredients like honey and banana? Yeah, he's gonna start sucking on your hair like spaghetti...I'm so sorry.

He'll bathe with you but that's because he wants to be close to you, it's definitely not about being pampered or relaxing.

Try to put a face mask on him or something else and it'll just become a game of tag around the Sunny. You can't catch him and he's having a great time outrunning and outwitting you.

He knows this is all important to you so even though he doesn't get it he'd never make fun of you for it and the moment someone calls you "extra," he's kicking their ass.

ACE

Maybe all the glam is a little silly to him but that just makes you extra cute!

He will also absolutely let you paint his nails. Hell, he'll let you do a full beat on him just for fun and he'll wear it for the whole day because he's so unserious lol

...As long as he gets to do your makeup after...Much like Luffy you're gonna be covered in neon colors that don't even remotely match, but you guys have a great time lol

Admittedly likes to be pampered by you when he gets back from a long mission.

Please take a bubble bath with this man, it's not like the water is ever going to get cold!

I'm pretty sure you'd legitimately lead to Ace taking better care of himself. Got this man out here talking about his cuticles and shit lol

Honestly, it's really good for him because self care leads to self love and Ace needs a lot of help with that.

He tells Pops about all the stuff you do 1.) because he loves you and 2.) he hopes some of it will help Whitebeard heal a little, god bless him 😢

All of your hardwork doesn't go unnoticed, he legitimately gets kind of misty eyed when you really dress up because he's so so so lucky. He swears he doesn't deserve you.

He always brings back some kind of gift even whether it's a cute plushie or something exotic to wear from all of his long travels

I need to stress how much this means to him, everyone of these things is like a little proposal because he already knows you're it. Every little gift is leading up to a ring from this man.

He's also just genuinely impressed by the skill it takes to do your makeup so well, especially after he tries doing it on you

Much like his little brother unfortunately, he does play with all the little contraptions in your vanity, especially in the beginning because have you seen an eyelash curler? He's so confused lol

SABO

Sabo and Ace truly are his brothers because he really don't get all the effort lol

Admittedly, a lot of that is because he thinks you're so hot already what's the point???

Once he gets this is just how you are he's less confused, he's probably the most normal out everyone. He lets you do your thing, although he's really curious how you managed to always look amazing while being in the fucking revolutionary army!!?? Where are you getting the time???

If someone were to intrude on y'all on a free afternoon you're both in fluffy robes with face masks on and Sabo loves to pretend to act like a bitch when he's in selfcare mode with you lol

"Are you seriously bothering us right now, ugh! I can't even right now!!" And then you both break out in laughter

He really thinks you should teach others how to contour and do makeup because it has great applications for disguises and infiltration.

And brags about your skills to everyone

Wonders how many of your makeup supplies could actively be used as a weapon *eye roll* jfc Sabo

There's a part of you that secretly worries all your boujieness will remind him of his blood relatives, but he assures you that it doesn't because you have a good heart and he never doubts that

Besides, being a little extra with him helps him associate those things he used to associate with his blood relatives with you instead so it's even better

He spoils you so bad, but with a Sabo-flair, ie. stealing from shitty people and bringing it back to you because you're oh so more deserving of nice things let's be honest

He gets jealous of the cute animals that you squeal over hehehe, please hug him when he starts pouting

He'll always wear a little pink just for you ❤️

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x reader headcanon #luffy x reader #law x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #ace x reader #sabo x reader

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nerinefy · 1 month

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ A LIFE WITH HIM ; FT. some OVERBLOT BOYS .𖥔 ݁ ˖

★ synopsis: how will they be like as your partner?

★ details: you/yours | headcanon | too much fluff | 1,000+ words

✦ ┊RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

PHYSICAL AFFECTION (GIVING & RECEIVING)

★ not too big on PDA, so expect that the most skin-to-skin contact you two can have outside is the occasional hand-holding. he likes it when he's the one initiating the gesture whenever you two are out and about since he still can't help but have the need to be in control even after his overblot (like leading you to places and making sure ur still by his side).

★ he doesn't admit it but he loves when you link your arm with his and nuzzle your face into his shoulder (although he will still scold you if you do it) ESPECIALLY when he's in a mood and is almost about to off the heads of some rule-breakers OR maybe when you're giving too much attention to a rando because he may not admit it but he's greedy and wants your eyes on him only (but he's a gentleman and will never speak about it, only dismissing his inappropriate thoughts.)

★ in private though he's just a snuggly little cuddle bug, even more so if he's tired or stressed or most likely both. so many responsibilities are piled up on his plate just in his second year so the only thing that keeps his shit together is your warm and loving embrace. HE'S A SMALL SPOON. NO BACKSIES, okay maybe he's a big spoon if you're the one who needs a little more loving.

GIFT-GIVING

★ i mean from the name itself ROSEHEARTS, roses are his go-to (he's corny but we love him like that), but if you have a different favorite flower then he'll get those, and if you're allergic he'll try to make those handmade ones! although a little sloppy, pretty successful for his first try. overall he likes giving the traditional gifts like bouquets, stuffed animals, and chocolates :) but if he gets to know you more it might be more personal and intimate stuff that fits your tastes, and of course, should be of use to you too.

THE SIMPLE THINGS

★ whenever you're stuck on a study session late at night he likes inviting you to take a break and brew some tea for you. he'll even share some sweets that Trey gave him. although he won't leave you alone after he finds you like that, instead he pulls out some reviewers he has and helps you work on whatever you find difficult to understand.

WORD AFFIRMATIONS

★ "Our race is nowhere near finished, so please my rose, stay strong, I know you can and want to do so. I am always by your side okay?"

✦ ┊LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

PHYSICAL AFFECTION (GIVING & RECEIVING)

★ hugs, hugs, and MORE HUGS. just lots of hugs! doesn't matter if he's a big spoon or small spoon, he needs you by his side 24/7, 365. he just has to have his scent all over you u know, half-breed things. this man is just lazing around anywhere so might as well bring his favorite pillow with him. and no, he doesn't care if you have class and need to take a test worth half your grade, he needs you more! ★ of course, he doesn't have long-ass hair for nothing, go be his peasant and brush it, most preferably with your fingers if he's having a good hair day. your soft fingers massaging his scalp are quite literally going to take him to heaven, and he'll have no regrets tho so go pocket something if that happens. ★ he doesn't pick favorites when it comes to giving and receiving physical affection, he just wants his hands all over you and if the job is done then he's good.

GIFT-GIVING

★ honestly man, i don't know with him. he's raised right so of course he gives you stuff like flowers and so on. on the other hand tho he isn't the type to know what you like and will most likely just ask you what you want him to give you. maybe he'll just take you to go fetch them at the store itself if he isn't sure. but on special days like your birthday or your anniversary (assuming ya'll would last more than a week), he actually tries and it's pretty sweet and more elaborate.

THE SIMPLE THINGS

★ whenever he's forcibly on a call with his brother, which surprisingly is turning into a regular thing, if Farena asks about how he's doing, Leona likely ends up only yapping about you. i mean yeah he missed his last test and he spent his allowance for the month in a week but does Farena know about the time you were mumbling Leona's name in your sleep? he will deny it if he's called out for doing so. NO, HE DID NOT PERIOD. *hangs up*

WORD AFFIRMATIONS

★ "Whatever you're thinking of, don't. It's stupid. As much as I don't like admitting this, you're strong, and even more than most beastmen if you set your mind to your goals."

✦ ┊AZUL ASHENGROTTO

PHYSICAL AFFECTION (GIVING & RECEIVING)

★ man's busy all the time so it's hard to get your hands on him. even if he's not busy, he will sprint for his life just to get away from you. not that he dislikes your affection, the concept is just a little foreign to him. give him time to adjust, then you'll find out how soft his tentacles are! ★ when he's actually busy and working on stuff in his office (when the time comes and he's comfortable) he likes it when you flop yourself on his lap and nuzzle into his chest. he feels guilty that he can't give full focus to you since his schedule truly is packed but you inviting yourself into his office at late hours of the day just to snuggle comforts and assures him in some way. he'll definitely find more time for you, he's trying his best lol! ★ overall he isn't one to initiate the touching even if he's fully vulnerable for you. idk too ask him about it. he's just happy you like him enough that you cling unto him. but if you ask him he may favor hand-holding the most, it may be the least contact but feeling your hand on his is enough for him.

GIFT-GIVING

★ HE KNOWS EVERYTHING. i'm not even kidding, even when it's no special day he'd likely buy stuff just because it reminded him of you or when you coincidentally need it which is pretty cute but can be a little creepy.

THE SIMPLE THINGS

★ i saw a fic back then that said he gives you some coupons and by some i mean a TON in hopes that you visit the Lounge and that is absolutely true. though he forgets you two are together and he can ask you nicely to come over but who can say no to 30% off all menu items?

WORD AFFIRMATIONS

★ "My, how could I ever deny what that cute head of yours and those strong arms of yours can do! You are a valuable asset to me...what kind of asset? Well...it's up to you to decide."

✦ ┊JAMIL VIPER

PHYSICAL AFFECTION (GIVING & RECIEVING)

★ he's also busy, honestly might be one of the, or if not the busiest of all of these guys. when you two have time to be together tho, even if he's knocked out and drained, he'll never show it. but i can say that's only during the early stages of your relationship with him and depending on how you two met. he likes to present himself in his best state and he really can't do so with his schedule so eventually he just melts and the next thing you know he's hugging you from the back any chance he gets and you feel his heartbeat turn slower by the minute. ★ for those moments that he sees you out and about though he likes patting your cute lil head, no matter what your height is. though he is trying to be a little adventurous with you so he leans in to caress your hair gently and suddenly you're met with a quick smooch. (only when there's no one else in sight so yeah adventurous my ass) ★ like leona, he loves it when you play with his hair, and he does not like to admit it. just remember to keep it neat and use a brush while you're at it, plus a facial and maybe a massage because i know those muscles are TIGHT.

GIFT-GIVING

★ his gifts reek of HANDMADE. idk he has those vibes. handmade flowers, or some origami of cute animals, but he likes giving you handwritten letters the most. it can be hard to communicate his real feelings to you so writing is a way for him to freely and easily express those feelings.

THE SIMPLE THINGS

★ whenever he cooks for Kalim or just whenever he cooks, he suddenly has some leftovers that he decided he'd pack up for you. can't bring himself up to say that excuse so he just gives it to you and walks away.

WORD AFFIRMATIONS

★ "Whining is useless. Do the things you're good at, stop worrying about the things you can't. Oh, I'm sorry...did that come off too harsh?"

★ author's note: congratulate me for coming back. BASK IN MY GLORIOUS PRESCENCE. (i missed u guys too ig)

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alisonwritesimagines · 4 months

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You're Losing Me ~Simon Riley Imagine~

Summary: Simon falls in love with Johnny, only to unintentionally hurt you in the process.

Author's Note: This was inspired by @houseofoddballs trauma bond fic they made which got me listening to sad, angsty songs while writing this at work. Also, please let me know if ya'll want a part two for this.

Reader's Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: MAJOR ANGST, like gut wrenching angst, cheating, unexpected pregnancy, slight happy ending for reader in the end in a way

Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!

Do not repost this anywhere!

He was your Simon. No one else's. You two had met when he was on leave and fell in love. So by definition, he was yours first. It sounds selfish but when you barely get to see him due to him going on missions on months on end, you'd understand why you want to hold onto him as much as you can.

You watched as your Simon walk in together with Soap once again. This was the third time this week where he had claimed he was busy only to be seen with Soap afterwards.

"Sorry I kept him long, bonnie," Johnny apologized again.

"It's okay. Glad you two had fun," you tell him.

You liked Soap. He was a good guy and he understood what your Simon had to go through during their time in the military. There was nothing wrong with him. Until he and your Simon got closer and closer. You noticed it from the way they interacted with each other.

But you would never say anything to them. You loved Simon. He was everything to you. You trusted him. But you began to notice something between the two. It was obvious even if they were trying to hide it. So if keeping your Simon meant that you had to stay silent, so be it.

“I’m going out,” Simon told you exactly at 5pm. You noticed each time he told you he was going out, it was always at 5pm.

“Again? Simon, I was hoping we can have a date night?” You tell him with a small frown. You couldn’t remember the last time you two had gone on a proper date with each other.

“Sorry love. I already got plans. How about I make it up to you tomorrow yeah? Just the two of us and we can do whatever you want,” Simon offers.

“Okay. That’s fine,” you nodded with a small smile.

“Don’t need to wait up on me,” Simon tells you. You nodded once again before he put on his coat to head out.

“I love you, Simon,” you tell him. Simon stared at you a little with a soft smile. But there was something else in that smile.

“I love you too,” Simon tells you before leaving your shared apartment.

Simon felt guilty. Leaving you alone for a night with Soap. He loved you both but he didn’t know if you’d be okay in getting into a relationship with both him and Soap. Had had to think of you first since you were there for him first before Soap.

“You okay, Lt?” Johnny asked. The two sat in the back of a bar at a booth, sitting next to each other.

“I just feel guilty,” Simon tells him.

“About?”

“I feel like I’m lying to Y/n,” Simon tells him.

“Simon-“

“But as much as I want her, I want you too. I need you both.”

“I’m here for you Simon. And you know she loves you too. I don’t want to hurt her either. She’s a good woman and you both need each other in a way,” Johnny said.

Johnny could at least acknowledge that even though he and Simon loved each other, he didn’t want to hurt you. You were kind and caring. Not to mention you were there first before Johnny.

Simon felt guilty, the more he began to drink with Johnny the guilt began to go away a little. The next thing he knew, he’s waking up next to Johnny naked in Johnny’s bed at four in the morning. Now he was more guilty and had dug his grave.

——

The next day, you knew what he did. And Simon knew that you knew. It wasn’t the fact he came home in the early morning or the silence that made him know that you knew. It was the hickeys on his neck that he didn’t hide. He was too busy to get back home to you first to even look at the hickeies Johnny gave him.

You lied in your bed crying as your heart was broken. Simon sat on the other side of the door, listening to your crying. It broke him or hear you cry. He never meant to hurt you but he did. The mental pain was far worse than the physical pain and he knew it.

“Love, can we talk?” Simon you.

“Ghost, leave me alone please,” you tell him. Simon got up the moment you used his code name. He didn’t want you to see him as Ghost. He was your Simon. Your Simon that you love. He wanted you to know that you didn’t loose him. He was here with you and begging for your forgiveness.

“Love. Please. Don’t call me that. Open the door please,” Simon begged as he tried to open the door.

“Ghost, I need a moment. Please. Just go to Soap if you need to,” you tell him, still hurt from what you saw this morning.

Simon’s heart broke from your words. Yes he was in love with Johnny but he didn’t want to run to Johnny whenever you two had a problem. Even before Johnny you two were able to work things out whenever you had a fight. But this was different. You didn’t use his code name in anger like you would do.

You used his code name as if you didn’t recognize him anymore.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay here until you’re ready to talk,” Simon tells you before walking to the living room.

You didn’t come out of the room till 9pm. When you walked out, you saw Simon sitting on the couch with red eyes. He looked over at you as you looked worse than he did. He got up before getting on his knees in front of you. You had never seen him this vulnerable before.

“Love, I’m sorry. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything. Please,” Simon begged. He couldn’t let you leave him. He needed you. Although, he wasn't sure if he could say the same thing about you needing him.

“What do you want me to say, Ghost?” You asked him.

“Don’t call me that. I’m Simon. I’m your Simon,” he tells you as he stood up. He held your hands in his before kissing them. Trying to cling onto you as much as he could before you could slip away from his fingers any more than you already had.

“Are you?” You asked him.

“Yes. I’ll do anything to prove it to you,” Simon begged. You stayed quiet before walking to the kitchen to grab something to eat.

“Let me, love,” Simon said before going into the kitchen to make you something. You lied on the couch until Simon had food ready for you.

It was going well for you both for a month before Simon had to go on a mission. He spent his last couple of days, letting you know how much he loved you in the bed to remind you that he loved you and how much he needed you.

“I love you so much, Y/n,” Simon tells you.

“I love you too, Simon,” you tell him.

——

The moment Simon had told you that he was coming back, you were excited. You had news to tell him that you hoped he would choose you. It was selfish yes but you were human. It was a natural thing. And you hoped that your news would bring you two closer.

But the moment Simon came home, you knew something was wrong. Instead of giving you a kiss that would eventually lead into the bedroom like how he used to do, he kissed your cheek and told you he had to shower.

He had left his phone on his stand while he showered. You weren’t the type to look through his phone but you had to know. You unlocked his phone to see the messages he had sent to Johnny.

Simon 5:00pm: I miss you.

Simon 10:45pm: Can I see you Johnny?

Johnny 10:46pm: Are you sure?

Simon 10:47pm: I need you right now.

Simon 11:34pm: I need you. Can I come over?

Simon 1:05pm: I can pick you up before we head back to base.

Johnny 1:07pm: Sounds good.

Simon 3:08pm: Just got home. I love you.

Johnny 3:10pm: I love you too. Let me know when you want to meet up again.

You noticed the dates and times. They were all while you and Simon were supposedly patching things up before he had to go on a mission. How many times has he snuck off to see Johnny? How many times did he tell you that he loved you that now felt like lies? Were they together intimately when they were on their mission? The last text being more recent with Simon telling Johnny that he loved him hurt the most.

You were a fool. A goddamn beautiful and forgiving fool. But this was the pushing point.

———

The flat felt colder and somehow smaller. Simon noticed all of your little things were gone the moment he came back from the gym. He knew something was wrong. He rushed to the bedroom to find it tidied up but empty.

Your nightstand no longer had your stuff on or in it. Your side of the closet was empty. All his hoodies and shirts that you had taken from him was hung or neatly folded and put away. It was as if you were never here.

Simon noticed a letter on his nightstand making him walk over and sit on his side of the bed. He took the letter in his hand before opening it up.

Simon,

I know you choosing between me and Johnny will be hard on you. So let me make the decision for you, go ahead and choose him. I don’t think I can continue fighting for your love even though I would’ve done anything and everything for you. I love you Simon. But I can’t face anymore emotional neglect and keep waiting for you to return the love I’ve been giving you.

Am I hurt? Yes. Am I surprised you fell for Johnny? No. He can understand you in many ways I would never be able to understand. I just wished I was enough for you.

Please do not contact me or find me. I think it’s best for me to move on and let myself heal. I know it seems selfish but I need this.

Goodbye Simon.

- Y/n

Simon took out his phone and quickly called you. Maybe it wasn’t too late?

“We're sorry you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

His worse fear has come true due to his selfishness. You were gone from his life.

———

Five years have gone since Simon last heard you. He had told Johnny he needed some time before continuing their relationship together the moment you left him. Five years since you left him but not a day had gone by without Simon thinking about you.

Were you doing okay? Were you in a safe place? Have you moved on officially?

It was now his and Johnny ‘s leave and they had to grab some groceries for the week. While Simon had gone to grab a couple of stuff, Johnny made his way to another aisle before feeling someone bump into his legs. Soap looked down at the small child in front of him. His eyes widen as he saw the small boy who looked exactly like Simon minus his hair color.

“Sorry sir,” the little boy said as he backed up.

“You okay lad?” Soap asked him.

“Yes. I’m just trying to get those cookies,” the little boy said as he pointed at the package that was on a shelf higher than him.

“Oh uh. Here,” Soap tells him as he handed him the cookies.

“Thank you!” The little boy smiled before running off to a man who had appeared from the other end of the aisle.

“You ready, Johnny?” Simon asked him as he walked over to him. He put the food he grabbed into the cart before looking at Johnny.

“Get this Lt. I just met a kid who looked exactly like you,” Soap tells him.

“Doubt it,” Simon scoffed unconvinced.

“I swear it!”

Simon shook his head before his eyes landed on someone familiar. His eyes widen, making Johnny look over to see who he was staring at.

You stood at the end of the aisle with the man and the child that Johnny had helped out not too long ago. You were glowing in more ways than one. You looked happier and healthier than the last time the two men saw you.

Not to mention, you were pregnant and had a ring on your finger. Simon couldn’t help but grew jealous and angry. You should’ve been like that with him.

“Simon? Johnny?” You asked confused as you finally saw them. You and your family walked over to the two who stood at the other end of the aisle.

“Hey bonnie. You're looking good,” Johnny said surprised. Simon looked over at the small boy who did look exactly like him.

Simon didn’t know wether to be angry, sad, or disappointed in himself.

“Hi. Thanks. Are you two on leave?” You asked.

“At the moment yes,” Johnny said.

“That’s good. Simon, Johnny, this is my husband Mitch. Mitch, this is Simon and Johnny,” you introduce them. Simon looked at you heartbroken. He had selfishly hoped that one day you would come back to him or at least he would be able to see you and beg for your forgiveness.

“Nice to meet you both,” Mitch smiled as he offered a handshake. Simon and Johnny both shook his hand out of politeness.

“Is this lad yours?” Johnny asked you.

“Yes. This is my son, Levi. Levi, sweetie, these are two of mommy’s old friends. Can you say hi?” You asked him.

“Hi Mr. Johnny. Hi, Mr. Simon,” Levi said.

“How old are you?” Simon asked him. You frowned at his question. There was no doubt that Levi was his. Mitch rubbed your back a little to help calm you down.

“Five,” Levi tells him shyly.

“He’s five?” Simon asked you with sadden eyes. How long were you alone before Mitch came into your life?

“Yes. We need to get going. We’re on vacation here,” you tell him before taking Levi’s hand.

“Bye Johnny. Bye Simon,” you tell the two.

“Wait, Y/n,” Simon said as he quickly held your hand with your wedding ring on it. He let go the moment he felt the ring.

“Can we talk sometime?” Simon asked you.

“Simon-“

“Please.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry. Come on, Levi,” you tell your son as you lead him to the check out.

Mitch stayed behind before looking over at Simon.

“If you have any questions about Levi, here’s my number. Just message me and I can talk to you,” Mitch told Simon as he handed him a card.

“He’s not yours?” Simon asked for confirmation.

“She’s mentioned you both before and told me what happened. You have the right to know about your son,” Mitch told him before walking away from the two.

“Simon?” Johnny softly said to get his attention.

“Let’s go.” Johnny’s Simon tells him before walking away.

——

It took some convincing from your husband but just before you three left to go back home in America, you met with Simon at a café close to the airport.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Simon smiled a little as you sat across from him.

“Yeah,” you tell him awkwardly.

“How have you been?”

“Better. From what you saw, I got a husband and my kids,” you tell him, placing your hand on your stomach.

“Have you told Levi that he’s my son?”

“No. And I can wait to tell him when he’s older to understand,” you say. Simon nodded, knowing it would be too much for the poor kid to understand.

“I want to apologize to you.”

“Simon-“

“No. I hurt you. I told you that I would never hurt you and I did. I love you, Y/n. And I’m happy you moved on but I really did love you. I’m so sorry and I’m begging for your forgiveness,” Simon tells you.

“Simon, I forgive you. I can accept on who you are but it just hurt when I watched you fall in love with someone else after everything we’ve been through. I stayed here for you. I wanted to be there for you but it felt like I lost you,” you tell him.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay now. I’ve healed and I have a family now who I love,” you tell him.

“You deserve it. You deserve everything good in this world,” Simon tells you. You smiled softly before handing him an address and a phone number.

“That’s our address and my phone number. If you want to visit Levi, you can. He is your son. I’ll let you know when I tell him that your his dad,” you tell him. Simon stared down at the address and phone number before looking at you. You were still beautiful in his eyes and the guilt of letting you slip away began to creep up on him.

“We could’ve had a good family right?”

“Yeah.”

“You were a wonderful experience,” Simon tells you.

“And you were everything,” you tell him before standing up and heading out the door.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #ghost #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #simon riley angst #ghost angst #ghoap #simon riley x john mactavish #ghost x soap #call of duty #call of duty imagine #alisonwritesimagines

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allastoredeer · 2 months

Text

Hello, don't mind me, I just need to vent for a second.

First off, I just wanna say, as an aroace person on the ace-spectrum, feel free to ship Alastor all you want. Ship him with anyone. Have fun with it. Sex repulsed. Non-sex repulsed. Grey-ace. Demisexual. Pure unadulterated smut. Whatever, have at it. I love that shit.

Just please do it without infantilizing ace-aro people.

The amount of art, fics, and takes I've come across that's so patronizing to Alastor and his sexuality. Thing's like Alastor venting to Rosie about his feelings for a character with the caption "Alastor feeling love for the first time." Or Alastor wanting to have sex with a character and having feelings about that, and someone commenting "That's called a boner, sweetheart. That means you like them 🤭"

Like??? Like do ya'll not see how patronizing that sounds? Being ace-aro doesn't mean you don't know your own body. It doesn't mean you don't understand the functions of your body.

It doesn't mean you've never experienced intense emotions. It doesn't mean you've never experienced love before.

And, look, I know these are meant to be jokes. I know. People are joking. I laughed at the first few I came across, too. It's not meant to be harmful or condescending; no one means it that way. But there's been so much with such...bad takes recently, and I don't know about any other ace-spec people (I don't speak for all ace-specs. Hell, there are probably other ace-spec's who don't mind, enjoy it, or are making content like it themselves. I just speak for myself) but GOD it's getting uncomfortable.

Alastor is in his late 30's-early 40's in human years. That is the established age range we have for him. Do you really think that he'd go that long without ever experiencing "love?" He went through puberty just like everyone else, do you think he doesn't understand his own body???

Being asexual, or sex-repulsed, or touch-repulsed doesn't mean you automatically don't explore these parts of yourself. It doesn't mean he's never, once in his life, touched his own dick, or pussy, or whatever genitalia you're giving him. He can still very well be a "virgin" (which in and of itself is a social construct) while also knowing his body and confidently handling any "sexual needs" he has.

Do you really think he doesn't know what a boner is? That in all the years he's been alive and dead (on Earth and in Hell), he wouldn't have experienced these things once? (And you know what? Maybe he hasn't! Perhaps there are ace's out there like that! But you're telling me he doesn't KNOW what that is??? Really???)

Ah, no, it's all because he just hasn't found the right person yet, right? It's not until Lucifer/Angel Dust/Vox, whoever found him, and they gave him these feelings, and oh no, poor Bambi is feeling twitterpated and horny for the first time, isn't that romantic!

Honestly, not really. It just sounds like the same, stupid shit ace-aro people hear from family, friends, and acquaintances about their sexuality. You know, the tried and true: "Oh, you just haven't found the right person yet. You'll want all that eventually, you'll see😊"

Do you not see how frustrating that is?

Look, I am all down for Alastor exploring parts of himself. I want him to navigate different relationships, feel them out, figure out what kind of relationship he wants and what he's okay and not okay with doing. But there are ways to do that without treating him like a little UwU silly baby boy who doesn't know his own body, or his own emotions, or his own relationships with other characters. Like he needs someone to teach him about himself.

How about instead, he finds someone he feels comfortable exploring these elements with? Instead of them "teaching" him how to fuck, or masturbate, or whatever the hell you want to call it, they're giving him the room and safe-space to explore it at his own pace??!!

It comes across as someone who isn't on the ace-spectrum "teaching" an ace-spec character about their own sexuality which puts such a gross taste in my mouth. Or, at least, that's how it comes across to me.

And the thing is, I know people aren't going to stop. I know they're going to keep infantilizing Alastor and his aro-ace identity, and I wasn't originally going to make this post, because you can't control what people do in fandom.

So this is mostly just a post to say: HEY! Hello! Ace-aro person here! I hope you all are having fun and I love that you're exploring Alastor's asexual/aromantic identity! Especially those who may not be in the ace-spectrum themselves, as you're learning about us and our experiences! That's awesome! Can we just do that while also treating Alastor like the adult he is? Can we do that without being infantilizing and patronizing about his sexual identity? Please?"

That's all I really wanted to say. I just needed to get this off my chest instead of letting it fester. This isn't an attack on anyone, this is just the perspective of an Alastor multi-shipper who loves exploring his relationships with other characters (sexually and non-sexually) and deep-diving into the dynamics of the show.

Thanks for reading.

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yeyinde · 1 year

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past and pending | John Price x f!Reader

"Fuck, love," his voice carries the taste of cigars and scotch when it rumbles in your ear. You smell the heady Maduro on his skin when you sink your teeth into the freckles on his shoulder. He tips his head forward; his rasping groan is heavy with smoke. "The things you do to me."

(you haven't stopped thinking of what it would feel like to burn your lips on his cigar, and numb the sting with the scotch on his tongue.)

warnings: smut; literal filth; kiiiiiinda an illicit relationship(?) but ya'll are consenting adults; power imbalance by proxy; breeding kink (slight); gendered reader; female anatomy; little substance just pure filth

notes: alt title was: when ur boss has baby fever and ur like, well damn, i guess i'm taking one for the team; this man is sooo damn fine, and Barry Sloane is a 1.88m snack (and tbh, scousers always make me a little weak in the knees)

Price looks like he smells of cigars whiskey cheap leather and hickory and i am feral.

It starts in Madrid.

(Though, if you're being honest with yourself, it really starts on a motorway outside of Dorset.)

Scotch in one hand, cigar in the other, he stands on the balcony, and gazes out at the water in the distance. Eyes fixed, crystalline, on the families below playing in the sand. A gaggle of children. Their mothers lean over the railing of the tapas below, shooing them off to find their fathers.

The sounds carry through the streets, bouncing off of the stucco. High-pitched giggles from the kids playing in the cobblestone roads. The admonishing calls of their parents. Laughter from passersby.

You watch him from the doorway. Catch the longing in his eyes; wistful and melancholic.

A family. Children.

It's not your mission—this isn't what you're here for—but there is an ache in his gaze that makes you bite your tongue, words stifled in your throat.

You've never seen your Captain look like this.

He notices you—has probably known, you don't doubt, that you were there from the start—but there is something almost painful about the way he gives himself one more moment of this, one more fleeting glance, before he has to take up the mantle of a commander, of a leader.

When he turns to you, it lingers in his eyes. A shade of mourning you can't quite understand. Can't quite reconcile about the man who, hours earlier, was barking out well done! and nice shot! when you took down an enemy operative. A bullet an inch below the eye. He clasped you on your back, grinned wide under the moustache, and it tasted of gunfire when he leaned in close.

("Mm, got 'em right in the fuckin' head!")

John Price is a man you'd never thought could feel anything except the high of the challenge, the chase. He smelled of scotch, Maduro, and gasoline. His voice was always ragged, and hoarse, from how loudly he bellowed on the battlefield, a roar that echoed in the distance.

This—

This is new. Different. It's both softer and sadder than you'd ever imagined him, and how it fits inside the man you'd known as one of the only people you could genuinely trust, is jarring. And simply put: it doesn't.

The idea of his longing fills you with a visceral ache.

(You're a good soldier. You wonder if you could—)

"Ready, then?" He asks, and digs his teeth into the cigar until it dents. The glass is placed on the dresser, empty. His lips stain the rim, and you think about bottle caps and Iceland.

You can't stop staring at him, now. Like an idiot. Like a—

Silly little girl with a crush.

You fluster. Force a nod when his brows buoy, bunching in concern. Bewilderment. You're not acting like yourself.

(You really haven't been since Reykjavik when he turned to you, and said—)

It's pushed aside when he takes one last drag, chest swelling with the inhale, and breathes out, words a plume of smoke.

"Let's get these steamin' bastards."

If Madrid started it all, then his hand on your thigh is certainly the cataclysmic finale, the end.

Well, that isn't entirely true.

It's the offer of a cigar. A little scotch.

(Maybe more than a little, really.)

Alone in a tapas in Madrid, he orders too much food for two people, and a bottle of their best scotch.

Asks, gruffly in aborted Spanish, if he can have a smoke, too.

(You end up having to translate both his Spanish and English to the befuddled waiter; the heavy accent renders his words to nothing but growled smoke.)

The mission was a success. Gaz perched on the loft across the street, the man cornered by Price, his only exit cut off by you—it was as smooth as one could go. Easy, almost. Effortless.

It should have been the first sign that things were going to unravel, quite quickly, from that point on.

Gaz declines the invitation. Laswell in your ear, well, you've earned it. You should have said no, too. Stayed in your room, ordered out, and poured over the piles of documents that will be waiting for you sooner or later. Red-tape means every moment must be noted down, each breath counted. Each step. Each choice. It's a mountain.

But Price had his face turned toward the streets when he asked. The breadcrumbs of his gaze led you to a woman holding a blue swaddle in her arms, cooing down at the lump hidden under soft cashmere. Old ladies congregated around her, faces lit up with joy.

He watched for a moment, and you saw that aching thing in his eyes when the woman peeled back the layers, showing off a ruddy-cheeked baby with a smattering of curly brown hair on his tiny head.

A catch, then, in your throat, when the words were out before you could stop them: I want to.

"...to go," you added hastily, flushing brilliantly under the lights in the hotel room. His hotel room. The one used to reconvene, to plot, to plan. The one that reeks of him—

The man you captured is held in a prison by the authorities, departing tonight under the cover of darkness. His weapons sit in the corner. Focus. You stare at them to ground yourself. "With you, that is."

Price turns, eyes finding yours when you lift your chin—automatic, magnetic: your Captain looks at you, and you offer a nod in response.

The longing is thick, palpable. It burns, and it aches, because it isn't for you. It's for some unattainable thing he's decided not to pursue.

You taste the flavour of it when he speaks, when he clears his throat, and gives a gruff good in response.

It, of course, is not good.

It's very bad.

Dangerous, even.

The attraction you feel toward Price—Captain, boss; off-limits —isn't anything new. It's not incipient, but it hasn't had a chance to take root, to hold firm. You haven't let it.

You'd felt the same swell of intrigue before; a fledgling thing that always dissipates before trouble starts. This should have been no different.

(But trouble comes quicker than you'd expect.

And you've always been rather good at lying to yourself.)

The look in his eyes. The tightness in your chest. Scotch on your tongue.

It festers when he leans over, eyes pools of cerulean, and says, want a cigar?

And now—

Now:

Your lungs are heavy with smoke that, apparently, isn't supposed to be there.

Not supposed to inhale, dove, he tells you, words rough from his own puff, and drenched in humour.

You sputter, knuckles pressed to your mouth to stop yourself from looking foolish in front of your Captain. Too late, of course. His eyes dance with mirth, lips crooked with the tang of it.

You duck your head. "Fuck, that's disgusting."

"Don't blame the cigar." He grins, easy, relaxed. The bucket hat on his head looks out of place in a tapas in Centro, but he's never felt more touchable to you when he's bathed in the mundane.

(At least it isn't the leather jacket, the beanie—)

You swallow down the acrid taste of tobacco on your tongue, sending him a sharp glance from the corner of your eye. "Who do I blame, then? The teacher?"

Price lets out a soft huff, a little chuckle under his breath, and tips his head in concession. "Yeah, alright. My fault, love."

Love. It makes your chest feel tight. Head dizzy. You can blame it on the pungent concoction of cigars and scotch, but it sits too heavy in your chest for you to pretend.

You drop your gaze to the table, to the half-eaten plate of setas al ajillo that sits in front of you as if it will somehow have an answer in the oil. That you might find god amongst the sauteed mushrooms, and he'll smack sense into your head. Don't be stupid. Don't be—

"Another?" He rasps, the word sticks to his throat.

The smoke from the cigar makes your head feel gummy. It's a balm that soothes over all the little voices in the back of your head that scream at you to stop. This is a bad idea, they say. You'll regret it in the morning.

But—

You want to impress him. Stupid. Price meets your stare when you lift your head. A smile. A nod.

He doesn't mention the way your hand trembles when you take the cigar proffered to you between a thick thumb and forefinger. He has a burn scar on his first knuckle. A round circle.

It's not the way you'd hold a cigar.

Your eyes linger for a moment on the burn, mind startlingly empty, as if refusing to partake in piecing together whatever it means, if only for his privacy. His own sense of untouchability.

Price is the core of the group. The man who everyone—even Ghost, to some extent—relies on, and absolutely respects. It's ironclad. Unshakeable.

He's the man who is always looking at you, at others, first. When something happens, his eyes are drawn to everyone else, making sure they are stable on their feet as the world around them crashes, and burns.

You know because, now, you're always watching him.

A silly little girl with a crush.

It began in Reykjavik.

A slurry of imported chemicals drafted by a man with an abhorrent agenda led you, Price, and Laswell on a chase through the city. It was close, down to the last nanoseconds. And then—

"You alright?"

Shaken. Terrified. You turn to him, and he's there, watching you. Eyes drawn tight. Taut, humourless smile pulling on the corners of his—for once—clean-shaven face.

It's hard to begin to grasp the words necessary to properly convey what you felt at that moment. Panic. Horror. Dread. Fear. They come close, but they miss that unnameable feeling of your heart leaping into your throat when the seconds ticked down to five, four, three…

Too late. Too—

And then a gunshot. A bullet in the man's head. Success. It felt too close to be considered a win. Like grasping at victory with the tips of your fingers as it fumbles from hand to hand. Narrowly snatching the win from the jowls of defeat that nipped at you.

"S-sir—"

He's there. Hand on your shoulder, firm and steady: it's the only thing that keeps you from toppling over.

"Mm, stay alert," he mumbles, eyes cutting back to the throng of agents—on loan from Norway as Iceland hadn't the means to take care of it on their own, the very same people whose pride refused to allow you any intel, almost leading to—

"Eyes, ears are everywhere."

It's the solid weight of his presence, his unmovable utilitarianism, that reinforces the liquid relief in your knees, giving it the stability needed to congeal, to harden.

Iceland was the first taste of reality. The first mission where you realised every single second mattered.

"Did good," he says under his breath, and nods at you when you turn, bewildered, to him. "Might not seem like it, but you held yourself up. Did what needed to be done. Good job."

There is a softness in his eyes, one that you can't place, but it makes your pulse race.

And now, that same something swims in his cerulean gaze, slightly misted from the scotch, but remarkably the same.

You drop your gaze again. His stare is heavy—its not oppressive, or intense, but its—

A lot. Weighed down by something that has been steadily building since you bunkered down in a frozen bivouac on the fringes of the Arctic. Each breath of plume of pure white. Nestled tight together under a single insulated blanket, sharing heat. Keeping each other from the white death looming at the edge of the door.

It sits there, now. The tendrils of frostbite in his eyes: memories of when the snow piled so high outside your door, you'd begun to fear that this little shack was going to be your icy prison.

His chest under your chin. Heat bleeding into you.

("Gotta stay warm," he'd rasped, gaze flickering to you in steady intervals. "Can't turn the heat on. They'll see us.")

In the morning after everything, he found you on the terrace overlooking the landscape, the rolling hills of white in the distance. Back in the sanctum of your hotel. The one free from tundra and sleet. From the howling winds that slammed against the shack you both holed up in for the night. Surveillance. Your first taste of it.

"You good?" He murmurs. It's a loaded question, and feels more like a test.

Still—

"I will be." A lie.

"Go on." He calls it.

You turn to him. "We—;" the words are heavy on your tongue. Blame, and anger, and— "if they shared information with us, we would have gotten to them sooner."

And then you bite your tongue, eyes darting across the barren balconies. Eyes and ears are everywhere, he'd said. Test: failed.

"Mm, yeah," he mumbles. His presence is comforting. A kinship born from ice and darkness. He leans against the railing beside you, fingers looped into the straps on his tactical vest. "Could have done a lot of things quicker."

"Why did we need to wait?"

His laugh is caustic. "Bureaucracy."

"Sounds pointless when people are waging chemical warfare on the innocent."

"Mm, you're not wrong." He adds, his breath a plume of white when he huffs. "But red tape is the line that keeps us in check. Can't go around shooting whoever looks at us funny."

"But—"

"I agree, though." His words are low, and doused in the residuum of anger from missions you've yet to experience. A chasm is carved between you. An uncrossable moor. "Fuckin' politics."

His hand is almost as heavy as the steel in his eyes when he pulls it free from the strap on his chest, and lays it on your shoulder. "Get some rest. Maybe a bloody drink if you can. They only got vodka," he spits the word out like it's blasphemous, and considering he's never too far away from a cigar in one hand, and a scotch in the other, you think, to him, it might be.

It's a dismissal. A nice chat, have a lovely day, ta. He's your Captain, a man who shares each success with everyone, but bears the weight of each failure on his own. This debacle only reinforced the notion that you can't keep operating in the strict lines given to you, but there is very little you can do to stop it.

Fuckin' politics, you think. And then—

Cacoethes.

"I mix a mean vodka cranberry," the offer is out before you can swallow it down. "I mean—it isn't scotch, but—"

He pauses by the door, hand in stasis over the handle. The silence is stifling.

"Sorry," you murmur, chastised. Embarrassed. "I didn't—I hope I didn't cross a line."

He turns his head, brows drawn together.

(You wonder if he, too, thinks of the cabin. Of the bottled water shared between you, the heavy breath that settled in the middle of the negligible space that separated you, turned toward each other to protect your vulnerable pieces from the frigid cold.)

Then, a flash of teeth. His moustache wobbles. "Sure," he murmurs. "If you can make it taste like it isn't vodka, I'll go for one. Not much of a pint, but…"

"Should have taught me how to smoke in Iceland," you say, reaching for the proffered cigar in his hands. Your eyes slide over the burns, the pock marks in his flesh that could not be self-inflicted, but you turn from them; your gaze, instead, fixed on him. "Might have kept us warm."

A rasping chuckle falls from his lips. He has a smear of ash in the corner. A dollop of oil on his beard by the seam of his mouth. "Iceland," he repeats the word, and it sounds like an old friend, filled with a touch of fondness you can't quite capture when you think back on the time spent there.

(A panic attack in the shower stall, head full of vodka and cranberries— definitely not a pint, he rasped, but still took another swallow; your eyes were fixed on the bob of his Adam's apple—and him. Run. Run. Don't look back—

Alright? His eyes are on you. On Gaz. Laswell. He makes his rounds between everyone, silently checking in. It warms you, and makes you think of the taste you caught on the rim of the water bottle. Hickory. Smoked sandalwood. Scotch. Your nose pressed tight to his chest. The heavy weight of his arm around you. Gotta get up, lo—

Love. You wonder if that's what he was going to say before he cleared his throat, and looked away from you.

A lie. Yes.

He calls it. Yeah?

No. Never. The way the amber light from the early morning sun caught the lazuli in his eyes made your heart shatter, and ever since he pulled you from the wreck years ago, you haven't stopped thinking of what it would feel like to burn your lips on his cigar, and numb the sting with the scotch on his tongue.

A tight smile. Distant. Hidden. Always, Cap.

He relents.

You wished he pushed. Gave you a reason to spill your vodka-filled guts on the tarmac to rid yourself of this rut you'd fallen into. An endless stasis of does he, he can't, could he, he might, don't get your hopes up—

His hand is between your shoulder blades. A soft smile in your direction.

—too late.)

"Ah, Reykjavik," it's a slow burn when he speaks, heavy with smoke. Voice thick, full of static. His eyes catch yours. Price leans in close, as if he's sharing a secret; something confidential and meant only for you. The heady scent of hickory fills your nose. You roll the scotch in your glass, but taste vodka on your tongue. "Might have, but then we would've had to keep it lit while running away from the terrorists in the snow."

"I've seen you keep one lit in a hurricane, sir."

There is something coarse in the way he huffs; a gravel-filled husk of droll mirth that rumbles from his chest. His knuckles brush yours when he passes the cigar over. "Only time I ever lost one was when our heli went down in Mexico. Simon got an earful that day."

"Amazing."

The cigar is less intense when you let it fill just your mouth until the smoke is stagnant between your teeth. It's—sweet. Robust.

"You sound very impressed," he husks again, words pitched low. "But I'll have you know it was my last good one. Quite a shame."

Fingers touch again. You wonder if it's on purpose. If he, like you, can't get enough of the warmth on your skin. If it makes him think of the chill—

"It sounds like one. I don't know how you finished the mission at all, sir."

"I had a spare." He smiles, but it's taut around the edges. Then: "none of that—," he stops, clears his throat again. Lower, barely a whisper, he adds: "none of that sir stuff here. Just call me—"

"Cap?" You breathe, heart thudding in your chest. The scotch. The cigar. Maybe, it was packed with weed. A little nicotine. Something that might make your heart race, your palms sweat. Your stomach burn.

"John."

Your heart pounds, but it's off-rhythm. An irregular beat. The pattern is wrong, the crescendo stutters. It's not—

"John," his name is caught in your throat; a corrugated wobble of a breath barely recognisable as a word, but he finds it, anyway. His eyes lift, catching yours. It's heavy. Oppressive. You think of his arm on your waist, his breath in your ear—

Another tight smile. His eyes are liquid sapphires. "Yeah, love."

Love. Love. Twice, now, he slipped and uttered it.

(Lo—

Thrice, then, if you count Iceland.)

"John—," you need to stop. To put distance between yourself and this man who is wholly off-limits before the wet tip of the cigar, once clipped between those full lips, will become a crutch. Addicting.

You don't know where it starts.

The cigar in your mouth makes him groan low in his throat. Your eyes drop when he shudders. His hand on your thigh. Voice in your ear.

"Gotta stop this, love."

The first thought: he knows.

The second: he knows.

There is a chasm between them. In that paradoxical degree of separation lingers a firm, judicious no. It is resolute. Ironclad.

But the sheath is made of latex. Your hands feel the sting of the rubber bands when your fingers pluck at the bonds holding it all back.

"And if I don't want to?" Your lashes fan your cheeks, eyes peering up at him through the wisps cresting over your pupils. Tongue peaks out. A tease. "John? "

His pupils dilate in response, blown wide until pits of coal eclipse the sapphire; a black hole lined with a thin halo of blue. The hairs on his upper lip flutter when he heaves out a breath through his nose.

John's smile is tight. A fleeting thing that flickers across his face before disappearing into a hard frown. "You don't know what you're getting into, love—;" he stops himself, clears his throat. Your name falls from his lips, saturated in smoke.

You meet him. One step back, one step forward. A dance until those blues fix themselves solely on you.

Maybe, it's the scotch. You've always been more brazen with amber than clear.

His Adam's apple bounces when your hand drops, covering his. Your fingers stroke the powerful hands that hold your flesh firm between scarred fingers; nimble and dexterous despite the thickness of them.

"Then show me."

His groan tastes of tobacco and ash.

It should be awkward, and uncomfortable, but it isn't.

Price's hand curls over your waist, tucking you to his side as you lean against him, hip bumping into his thigh, hand settled on the warmth of his back.

You wonder if everyone around you can tell that you're going home with this man, your boss, and he's going to fuck you when you get there. It feels sacrilegious. Wrong.

But not even the spume of trepidation that wells inside of your gut is enough to stop you from getting this. Him.

You want it. Need it.

Your hand slips over his chest on the corner of the street. His eyes flash, caught in the light from the veranda.

Does he feel it, too, you wonder? All those moments that lead up to this? Soft words over the comm. Late nights spent pouring over coordinates and maps, reaching for something at the same time. Hands brushing. Eyes meeting over the median. Smiles shared. A world in the dead of night when everyone else had long gone to bed. You should have, too. You didn't. You stayed up as long as you could, soaking up his company.

Mornings met by the coffee maker.

No tea, it seems.

They have tea, sir.

Not the good kind.

You're just picky.

Look at this—it almost makes you ashamed to be British.

Only that?

He's untouchable—well: should be, rather; but Price is anything but. He's a constant amid many raging storms, a rock in times when the world feels like it's spiralling down toward some cataclysmic abyss and your fingers aren't quick enough to reach out and catch it.

But he is.

Always.

Your failsafe. Your security net. The only man on the planet who will rage against insurgents and terrorists, and politicians and red tape in equal measure for his team. He'll risk his neck, offer his jugular, if it means you can finish the mission.

Gaz in your head. He said something to me once… stuck to me, y'know? We get dirty, and the world stays clean.

It bludgeoned into you then just like it does now. It's the perfect iteration of exactly who Price is. He's not a hero. He doesn't pretend to be one. But if him gunning down a man on the fringes of society means that innocent people in the cities get to sleep at night without even knowing what he, and his men, sacrificed, he's content. He never asks for anything except the freedom to keep peace—however it comes about: in a hail of bullets, a fist against a man's jaw until he spits out blood and teeth and the truth, or in cuddling together on the verge of hypothermia so people in a country he has no connection to can continue to live without fear.

John is—

Well. It was inevitable, wasn't it?

They can't forge a man like him into existence, and expect you not to feel overwhelmed in his presence.

This feels inevitable.

And sure—human resources and internal affairs might have opinions about that, but it's been brewing since he pulled you from a burning wreck on the motorway (a small travesty in what could have been calamitous had you not decided to trust the SAS with an impeccable moustache, and your gut, and broke every rule in the book), and then looked you in your soot-covered face, and asked: have you considered a transfer?

Your drug enforcement days slipped into the past when he offered you a spot on his team.

And now—

Your lip is raw from the cigar burn, but the taste of scotch on your tongue soothes the ache. His hand is heavy on your waist, flesh hot to the touch like he is burning up in a fever.

A woman wanders past, the same one you saw earlier with a baby swaddled in blue, but—

Price only has eyes for you.

"C'mon, love," he husks in your ear, his breath heavy with smoke and scotch, and sending shivers racing down your spine. "Wanna come back with me?"

And you—

("I'll follow you—")

"Anywhere, John."

His hands are reverent when they brush across your skin. The heavy weight of his palms pressing against the back of your thighs makes you tremble. His rough skin feels good as it grazes yours, touch softer, more gentle than you thought he'd be.

It's a strange contrast—you'd come to expect gruffness with your Captain. His voice, his words, his practices all carry the same abrasive lilt to you, and you assumed that he'd fuck you the same way. Rough hands, brutal commands barked out.

It's none of that. It's—

His eyes peer down at you, spread out below him, and he carries the same tenderness in his eyes as when he stared at the women from before. Families. It settles inside of you. This unexpected way he handles you so gingerly makes your heart pound, and makes your core knot.

He looks at you as if you're the best thing that has ever happened to him.

And you can't be. It's impossible, isn't it? This man who'd lived many lives before you even knew how to shoot a gun, or tie your shoelaces, should not be looking at you as if you'd offered him salvation.

But he is.

You press the back of your forearm to your crown, arching your back for him. His eyes are drawn to your body, to the way you open up for him, and the darkening of his eyes makes you pant.

Your hand reaches up to his chest, palm pressed against the thick bed of unruly auburn hair that covers his pulse, and the feel of his thick body over you makes your cunt throb with need. You want him. You want him so badly that it hurts.

"This what you want, love?" He husks in your ear, beard tickling your skin. "Want me to fuck you, yeah?"

It had sprung up when you first tumbled into the room. The dance is familiar—the steps ingrained in your head, now muscle memory—but he isn't just any partner. You stood before him, unsure for the first time since you caught that aching sense of wishfulness in his eyes and knew that you wanted whatever permeated in those cerulean depths to look at you, and hold you in the same regard.

Now—

Your body is fever-hot, and he stands by the minibar, offering you scotch.

"I want you—," the words tumble out, a breathless lull in the otherwise silent room, broken only by the glass nozzle clanking against the side of the cup he set out. You've shocked him. You swallow thickly when he turns, brows lifting.

"I want you." You repeat, firmer this time.

"Are you—"

You skip the introductory waltz and immediately jump into a tango when you breathe: I want you inside me, John.

You know he aches for it. You can feel him twitching inside of you; deep and full. The head of his cock nudges against something soft in your cunt that makes you spasm around him, whimpering.

"Yes, sir…" you pant, heavy and breathless. The way you address him makes him grunt, makes his hips cant into you, the movement tinged in desperation. "Fill me up."

Price groans, rolling his hips into you. Each thrust knocks the air from your lungs until only the cloying smoke from his cigar resides inside. You're dizzy, dazed. He fucks you like he's worshipping you—each time he moves inside of you, he aims for that gummy place that has your nails digging into his sides, legs locking around his waist, caught on the bend of his thighs, as he rides you through it.

He tastes of smoke. Loam. Sandalwood. Butterscotch. "Please," you murmur, tongue laving over the indents of your teeth in his skin. You wish it was permanent. "It's your own fault, Captain."

"Yeah?" He grinds his cock inside of you until your eyes roll back, mouth dropping open as white-hot pleasure spools in your core. "Sounds like you need some discipline then, soldier."

Fuck —

He does it again, thrusting into you this time until he's seated in deep. You whine at the bliss flooding your core.

His hand lifts from your thigh, and you blink your eyes open, watching as his tongue sweeps across the pad. His eyes are wicked in the soft light spilling from street lights outside; bluer than the wide, open ocean.

You shiver when they drop to your cunt, spread out for him and stretched taut over his twitching cock. A frisson passes; waves crashing against the shores, frothing white.

His hand drops, thumb pressing against your clit. "Gonna cum for me?" He murmurs, a sonorous knot in the quiet room. You hear the roar of the ocean in the distance. Humid breeze flutters through the open balcony.

Anyone can hear you. Can hear how badly you want your Captain to fill your cunt, to make you see stars, and swaddles of blue—

You keen low in your throat when his thumb rubs tight circles over your throbbing clit, cock knocking against the gummy walls of your cunt. His head brushes your womb, presses there tight for a moment until your back arches in that deep-seated ache, that quiver of pleasure-pain that lacerates through your core.

"Fuck, fuck—," you whimper, needy and breathless, hips working in time with the insistent press of his thumb, working you in small, shallow circles. "Cap— Captain, please—"

"Fuck, love—," he throaty words a bitten, jagged plea that sticks, thick and molten, between his molars. You can feel him twitch within you. Feel the way he batters into that spongey nook inside of you that has the Aurora Borealis flashing behind your lids. "You're a cheeky little thing, aren't you?" He pants, bending down to press his teeth over your raw neck, already bitten and bruised, chafed by the coarse hair of his beard.

His groan rolls out of him; dredged up from deep within his chest. The rumble of pleasure, the sloppy way his hips snap into you, now, all practise and control dissociating with his desperation to get you to cum on his cock so he can fill your pussy up with cum, deep enough that it floods your womb—

"Cum for me—!" He snaps, the words chewed out and broken, punctuated by a deep grind of his cock. "Need to feel your pussy cumming on my cock, love; you want it, don't you? If you be a good girl and cum for me, I'll fill your pussy up—"

Your toes curl at the wrecked, raw tone of his voice, breaking over the end. He wants it. You feel him throb within you at just the thought.

"Yeah," you whine, that spooling coil in your belly pulling tighter and tighter with each brutal thrust, each nudge of his cock as it bludgeons inside of you. "Want you cum inside my pussy, John—"

His head tips, forehead dropping to rest on yours as his eyes roll back, fluttering with the sultry plea that drips from your cigar-singed lips.

You taste smoke when his thumb presses against you, the other sliding over your body until he has a palmful of your breast in his grasp. Each roll of his hips makes you see white; tendrils and wisps of smog fill your eyes until all you can see is a hazy blue through the curtain of snow. Fog on your breath. His words in your ear.

It pinches taut when he turns his head, beard scraping your skin, and presses his lips to your temple. Slurred words that taste of tobacco. "Need to feel you cum on my cock, love —"

Liquid bliss spumes deep when you cum—a deluge of euphoria richer than scotch, and more addictive than nicotine.

His name is a choked sob into the thick blanket of desire that weighs down on you.

He drops, his torso flat against your chest as he slots his mouth over you, tongue delving deep as he ruts into your pulsing cunt, fluttering like a heartbeat as you cum around his cock. He groans into the messy kiss—hickory and smoke and the bitter tang of scotch—and you feel him jerk within you before he pushes in as far as he can. He doesn't stop until your cunt swallows him to the base, where he sits taut against the seal of your cervix. And then you feel it. You feel him throb deep inside of you, stuffed full of his cock, and a molten spume spills out when he cums.

He's cumming inside of you, filling your pussy up—

Your cunt clenches, a soft flutter against him at the thought of it, the feeling.

His head lifts, then, and you can see the draw of his brows, the clench of his jaw, the grunts that slip out, deep and punctured, from between the grit of his teeth, and you think you could get addicted to the sight of him in bliss.

Your hands slide over the slick bulk of his back, nails raking softly over the skin as he shudders against you, heaving from exertion.

"Christ," he rasps in your ear, whiskey-timbered and heady with malt. "You're gonna make me lose my goddamn mind, love."

You tip your head back, grinning. "What is it you like to say, Cap?" You purr, fingers dancing over the indent of your teeth. "We're all a bit crazy."

You lay with your head tucked on his shoulder. His arm is bent at the elbow with his palm under his head; your hand rests on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart under your skin.

It's—

Cosy. A little moment where you feel liquid and blissful, eyes lidding as you peer at his naked chest—flushed roseate, peppered with auburn that that runs all the way down to the indent of his groin—and map the dusting of rust-coloured freckles that peak through the wisps of coarse hair. It's domestic. Basking in the acrid afterglow of your illicit coupling.

Your index presses into a thick patch of hair just below his pectoral, catching the curls on the tip until they wrap around your finger. He rumbles deep in his chest, and pulls the lit cigar up to his mouth, biting it between his teeth, before dropping his hand down on yours.

Cerulean peaks through a thick breath of ashen smoke. You feel shy, suddenly. Demure. Maybe, it's the scent of sex and tobacco thick in the air, the taste of spice and scotch on your tongue, or the way his cum stains your inner thighs, leaking out of you, and drenching the sheets below. Proof, then, that you fucked your Captain.

Most people start at the bottom of the totem and work up. It was a running joke amongst your class when the physical demands of the role became too much, and the drills got harder, and harder the more you sloughed through the ropes.

All the way to the top. The easy way. On your knees, soldier, you'd pass between each other in covert secrecy, eyes fatigued but grinning wide. How easy it would be, comparatively, to just lay back and let your drill sergeant have his fill. It was all chatter. Jokes. None of it was real, and if anyone of you ever had the notion to act on it—

That has never been your goal. Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain—none of it meant anything to you until a hand appeared out of dense, black smoke, a gruff: c'mon, now, I got you following. It still doesn't. Not really. Does he know that, though? That you'd followed along dutifully behind him, not over some sense of grandeur or hero-complex, but because you admired the shape of him, the grit.

John's hand slides over yours, fingers tangling between the brackets of your own until you're locked together, palm pressed against palm.

There are years worth of things you want to say, but they dissolve in the malt still saturating your tongue.

Price's hand is rough. Scarred and weathered; aged and worn.

Your hands don't quite fit together. His brackets are too wide for your slender digits to rest without being swallowed whole by him. His fingers are the exact opposite: too wide, too thick. The seam between your knuckles aches when he slides his into the gaps. Like everything about him, this, too, is stretched taut.

Still. Still—

His hand folds over yours, devouring your palm, and suddenly all your listing axes are righted, centred. The ground you walk on is firm, solid.

It's always like that with him, you find.

His warmth bleeds into your palm.

Price shifts. His hand slips from behind his head to take hold of the cigar in his mouth. The knob of his wrist rests on your shoulder, cigar dangling between his fingers.

You wonder if this is the moment when we shouldn't have, we can't come in.

He clears his throat, always a low rasp as if he'd just gotten done screaming. Hoarse and rough. You don't think you can go back to before when you didn't know what your name sounded like falling from his lips when he cums—

"You don't know what you do to me, love."

Don't hope—

"And what is that?" You peer up at him through the wisps of auburn.

His eyes make your pulse race. A lagoon in the middle of the Arctic. A deep, endless pool of blue.

Price offers you the cigar, and bends down to press his sweaty forehead against your temple when you lean up and take it.

Scotch. Hickory. Smoke.

A motorway in Dorset. Your superiors snapping at you to leave it alone. You followed him then, and when he mumbles in your ear, words drenched in malt and petrol, you know you'll follow him even now.

"You make me want things, love. Things I shouldn't."

You catch his clear blues in yours. The cigar burns when you press it to your bottom lip, catching the taste of him on the end.

"You have no one to blame but yourself," you whisper, squeezing his too-big hand in yours. "I learned from the best, you know."

"Cheeky—"

—he takes you back to Iceland when your allotted off-time mysteriously syncs together: a fumbling romantic at heart. he has no idea what he's doing. wooing, courtship, and long-lasting were never words in his vocabulary, but he tries.

—on his phone, you catch a glimpse of what he was looking at so intently on the plane: romantic places in Iceland: romance for idiots

—it doesn't surprise you, then, when you find the article yourself that he sticks to each individual one like it's a personal mission. flowers. chocolates. "don't know what's so special about these bloody things. do you really like them?"

—it surprises you, even more, when you press your lips to cheek, murmuring, "i like you more," and see the flash of roseate flooding his cheeks.

—Gaz is firmly on team "i don't want to know" but too bad for him, he's the only one you can really tell.

"please tell me he doesn't wear The Hat... y'know...," his face looks a little ashen when he says it. You smile. "...Please. No, you can't—hey! You can't just walk away—!"

#john price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price #captain john price x reader #cod mw2 #cod #cod mw #cod mw2 fic #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #he's daddy asf #captain john price x you #cod price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you

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sugarlywhispers · 5 months

Text

ex!b.katsuki x reader ; m.izuku x reader — bakugou cheats on his gf, with midoriya's girlfriend.

☆– warnings; ANGST. mention and description of panic attacks, swear words, cheating (bakugou to reader; uraraka to midoriya), description of a fight. But it ends in fluff~ c;

☆–a.n; honestly, i don't know if i'm going to add another chapter... i still have a bit more of ideas for this, but i don't know ._.

in the meantime, i hope you liked this new part! <3

also, i hope ya'll have a wonderful beggining of 2024!!! may this new year bring lots of good thing for everyone, lots of love and adventures, new amazing things and wonderful people to your lives!

love ya'll so much, wish you all ALL the good things life can bring; no more tears, except happy ones. <3

A few weeks go by, and Midoriya and you keep in touch, texting almost everyday. Talking about random stuff, important stuff, whatever the mood is. But it's mostly cute, random stuff, getting to know each other kind of feeling. It's funny how you both have been around each other for so long and did not actually know one another.

The texting was cute. Like a picture he sends one afternoon, when his shift is calm and almost finished, when the sun is setting, taken from up high in a building. A beautiful sunset picture that you use as a lock screen wallpaper on your phone. Or that one selfie he sent when he shared patrols with Hero Shoto; you remember thinking how cute he looked posing next to the hot and cold Hero, with two fingers of one of his hands pulled up on a peace sign. Or a picture of a little puppy Hero Deku found on a rainy morning shift. He took it to the closest vet so they could help the little animal, and you find that so fucking heroic it makes your heart jump from the cuteness.

"I wonder… who has you smiling like that? Oh , I know… Mister Greeny," Mineta mocks, his eyebrows shaking up and down suggestively.

"Shut up," you bark and hit him on the upper arm strongly. He simply laughs.

Three months pass faster than you actually realize. You're better, you feel better. You haven't had a single panic attack since Midoriya Izuku entered your life. Which is good… it means good.

He is good.

Since that first Friday you grabbed coffee together, you both decided to make it your day. Each and every Friday morning, Izuku and you would go to grab coffee at that same shop you went to the first time; then he would walk you home as the gentleman he is.

It's Friday and you're waiting for him, it's a bit late already, but you know he is coming. He had a night patrol but he insisted to not break the new tradition - his words. You found it cute, so you didn't protest.

But now you're worried, because it's almost 30 minutes since you have been waiting and he hasn't come yet. Then it becomes 40, 45, 50 minutes. You feel your neck itchy, but you try to ignore it, looking at your phone. Waiting for a notification, waiting for Mid‐ Izuku to contact you. But nothing.

It's already been 1.10 hours long and no sign of him. You sigh and decide to go home, it's been more than an hour already. Probably he had something coming up at the last minute, or he simply forgot. He probably had a rough night and he didn't have time to meet you. You're not as important as his job, obviously.

You grab your things and exit the place, the kind girl behind the counter smiles sadly at you and waves her hand as goodbye. You smile, or at least try, in her direction and leave the coffee shop.

You feel itchy all over. This… This is… weird . Why are you feeling like this? You have no right to feel… disappointed, hurt . He's a Hero. He's freaking Number One, pro hero Deku. His job will always come first. But you can't help it. It's like…

You're not my priority, Y/N. Understand that you'll never be. I have to concentrate in my job if want to fucking be Number one.

You haven't heard his voice in your head for a long time now. And hearing it again is… painful. Hurting. Choking .

Every sound around you feels a hundred times louder as you walk, every light blinds you and you don't realize you're bumping into almost everyone around. The pressure on your neck is getting stronger and you can't breathe. You can't think. Your vision is turning black, like that night at the ramen shop with Mineta. A panic attack . You're having one in the middle of the street. How embarrassing . How pathetic .

You want the blackness to finally evolve you, and don't let go.

And then you see it, you feel it. Green eyes and strong hands grabbing your shoulders. You know those green eyes, you have seen them before. He's moving his mouth but you can't hear his voice. He looks worried; why is he worried? You feel rough hands that grab your face as softly as he can, and they are cold. You aren't used to the cold, but you like it. It's refreshing.

"...hear me? Y/N, please breathe, okay? Breathe with me," his voice is comforting, so you follow him, you breathe with him. "That's it… You're okay. We are okay."

The sight around you starts to clear, the blackness dissipates and you see clearly. His face is the first thing your eyes find. You know him. "Izuku?"

" Yes! Yes, it's me… Hi, love," he smiles relieved. You look around realizing you're in the middle of a circle, with him. People are watching, some worried, some annoyed. Embarrassing .

You realize then that Izuku's hands are around your face, holding you with no intention of letting go. "Izuku…"

He blinks, realizing then probably your surroundings and nods. "Yes, come one, let's go…"

Izuku helps you stand, his arm surrounding your waist pulling your weight on him so he helps you walk. Everyone starts clapping, clearly recognizing hero Deku even in his civilian clothes.

He walks you to your apartment in silence. Until you walk into the building, "There's no elevator?"

"No, it's been broken since before I got here," you know your voice sounds throaty, and the expression on his face says it worries him.

He sighs looking at the long stairs ahead. He knows you live on the fourth floor. "Okay, then," he says before picking you up, bridal style.

"Izuku! I can walk!"

"No, you can't. You have been putting your weight on me the whole way here."

"Still, I…"

"Shut up. Let me help," his tone it's so authoritative you have no other option than to do that. Shut up and let him help, because you know you wouldn't be able to climb those stairs up on your own even if you tried.

On the way up, you can't avoid watching him. He looks… angry . You have never seen him like that, or better said, you have never experienced his anger, you have seen him angry on the TV, fighting villains.

"I'm sorry," you say, and he stops midway, his eyes traveling to your face.

"You're apologizing for having a panic attack?" He's frowning, his tone incredulous, but serious. It makes tingles run your body.

"I'm… Yes, it's embarrassing ," you feel your voice crack a bit, and you hate that.

"Y/N, it's not embarrassing. It's a trauma response. And it's okay to go through it. But you need to heal…"

You look away from his face, tears already burning your eyes. You can't help but hear his voice again.

Having panic attacks in public is embarrassing, Y/N. You have to control them. Don't be fucking weak.

" He said… he said they were embarrassing."

You know you shouldn't be saying this to Izuku, but you said it even before you could actually think it.

" Who said-…" Izuku stops mid sentence. Takes a deep, deep breath, and continues climbing the stairs in silence. You don't dare look up. He's so tense and angry, you don't really have the courage to witness that right now.

When you arrive at the fourth floor you signal him which one is your apartment. And even when you are in front of the door, he doesn't put you on the ground. He stands there, waiting patiently, as you search for the key card on your bag and when the door is open he enters with you in his arms. He of course takes his shoes off at the entrance and walks inside.

He doesn't say anything as he sits you over the small couch and sits next to you, his arm touching yours and taking almost all the space around you. His smell is around and you like it.

His face is even closer to yours when he asks, worried, "When were you going to tell me you have panic attacks?"

"I… I don't want to bother anyone with them." You tell the truth. You can't lie to him.

"That's what he told you? That they are a bother?" You simply shrug, not really wanting to answer. "Y/N, I'm not angry or feel like this is a bother. I'm worried, you need help."

"I am going to therapy. I've been going since I'm five, Izuku. I had a handle on them, they weren't recurrent until…"

"Until he left you," he finishes for you, slightly shaking his head and you nod.

Izuku sighs, standing up and you watch him. Is he going away? Is he embarrassed and going away, deciding not to involve or do anything with your broken self?

"Do you mind if I make us both tea?"

You shake your head rapidly in answer. He smiles and walks towards the kitchen. You follow his every move, being a small apartment it's easy to do it.

Izuku is… staying . For tea. He's not leaving. He's not leaving you alone after a panic attack. Like Mineta. But he's your best friend, Mineta has always been there; like you have been there for him even after the war he had to be part of at such a young age and he tried to push you away. Izuku doesn't have that obligation. Izuku… is your friend? Well, that's how you like to think of him since you got to know him this past months. But the category of best friend was not there for him yet. You were just getting to know each other. So, why is he here? Why does he stay?

"It's ready," he suddenly says, sitting back next to you with the two mugs of tea. He gives you one and you accept it a bit startled.

The sudden smell of lemon with honey tea that invades your nose as you bring it closer to drink immediately relaxes you. You smile after taking a sip.

You look back at him and he's watching intently at you, like he's waiting for your reaction.

"You remembered," you say and you really want to cry now.

He smiles, a hand flying to the back of his head to scratch it nervously, "You said it was your favorite."

You did. On a text message, when the topic was favorite drinks . But the fact that he remembered that you said it, it is… overwhelming.

Silence again. On your part it's more relaxed, but you can feel him a bit anxious. You decide to give him space, time to say whatever it is that it's inside his mind.

Until he does.

"You're not the only one… struggling still… with all that happened." He says as he sets his mug on the little coffee table in front of you. It's very small, mostly for decoration. Only space for the two mugs you're using at the moment. Izuku then lays his elbows over his knees, fingers fidgeting in the middle clearly showing his nervousness. "I have nightmares. Very bad ones, since the war. Uraraka used to help a lot, she was always there for me when I needed her."

This is the first time he talks about her this willingly, so you just keep silent and give him the space he needs to say whatever he wants.

"I was finally getting better… and then… she wasn't there anymore…"

"The nightmares came back?" He simply nods. You can't help yourself but to direct your hand towards his shoulder in a form of comfort, which he accepts with a small smile.

"I guess… we are two broken people, trying to pick up the pieces left. Aren't we?"

His eyes shine with tears he refuses to set free, probably also what your own looked like. He smiles sadly at you, before patting your hand that still holds his shoulder.

You both stay in silence for a little while before Izuku breaks the silence again.

"I'm sorry about today. I had…" He sighs. "I had a discussion with a partner."

Partner? You know Izuku doesn't have many partners. One is Hero Shoto, who also is his best friend. You doubt he had a discussion with him, you couldn't actually see Shoto in a heated discussion at all. And the other one is… Oh .

"What did he do now?" You don't even have to mention his name. You and Izuku know who you're talking about.

The green-haired man rolls his eyes. "We have been civil. For the sake of everybody around us. And if I'm being honest, we work well together. In fights, we understand each other perfectly. So we decided to just be professional and not bring up anything that happened."

You know this. Izuku had already told you this once, when he called you on his lunch break to talk to you about a cute little butterfly that he would send you the picture of when he was less busy and you heard Bakugou's voice on the back calling for Izuku. They had been on a mission together.

"Until…" Izuku continues, "Until this morning, when he decided to bring up our Friday morning's coffee."

" What?! " You frown. How did he know? Nobody knew, besides Mineta and probably Shoto on Izuku's side. Nobody else knew… unless…

"Paparazzis discovered us. I don't know how. I'm always careful when meeting you. I take a lot of turns and I disguise myself the best I can so they don't recognize me. But they found out." He sighs, a hand sliding his green and black curls back. "They released an article yesterday. About us."

Izuku takes out his phone, searching for something before showing it to you.

NEWLY BACHELOR, NUMBER ONE PRO HERO DEKU, FOUNDS NEW SWEETHEART?

Yes, my readers, this is apparently what it looks like. A young, pretty lady like this caught the attention of the Symbol of Hope quite fast, if you ask for my humble opinion.

We don't have much information about her, sadly. Only that this lady has our favorite Pro Hero on her clutches... Look at the way he looks at her in the following pictures!

Isn't it cute? Let me be honest, as a fan of Deku myself, I can't avoid feeling a bit heartbroken, but I also think that this man deserves all the happiness anyone can give him. Don't you agree? And after that sudden break up with Pro Hero Uravity that caught everyone by surprise, makes me think… Does this lady have anything to do with it? Did she catch Pro Hero Deku's heart from before, causing the break up? Mmm, so many questions, readers, that we don't have the answers yet! But no mind, we will try our best to find them! Be patient, and in the meantime, show a bit of support for our favorite Number One Hero.

You feel like vomiting. Your picture, clear as day, has never been on the front page of a magazine. Bakugou has always protected his privacy so meticulously, and that included you. The media and his fans knew he had a relationship, but he never let anyone get a glimpse of it.

And here you are now, on the front page of Go-zzip Hero magazine, the picture showing you sitting in front of Izuku in that coffee shop, talking so close to his face it practically looks like you're kissing. Oh, shit . You do that? You actually speak that close to him??

You swallow thickly, looking back up at Izuku.

"I am so sorry, Izuku, I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't know. None of us did. But I'm sorry I wasn't more careful…"

"Don't be silly. This is not your fault."

"Yours either."

You both smile shyly at each other. This is… chaotic. Being involved with him is… OH, SHIT.

"What? What is it?" He asks as he sees your eyes open wide in fear.

"Your fans are gonna kill me..."

"No, they aren't…"

"Yes, they are! Oh my God!" You stand, after putting your mug over the table next to his, a bit wobbly on the legs which makes him react fast to hold you if you fall, but you don't. You start walking one way to the other of your small living room. "I'm so food for the fishes… they are going to kill me!"

Izuku chuckles. "No, they aren't, Y/N…"

"Don't laugh! Yes, they are! Especially after what that journalist said! They even hinted that probably I was the reason you broke up with Uraraka!"

"Which is not true. I'll call my manager and PR team and ask for an interview with the magazine and clarify this. You don't have anything to worry about. Neither does Mineta. I'll clarify that we are just friends…"

That makes you freeze in place, frowning. "Mineta? What does he have to do with this?"

Izuku frowns too, looking confused at you. "Aren't you… Isn't he… Aren't you dating ?"

"WHAT?!" By Izuku's flinching, you realize you raised your tone a bit louder than you intended. "Sorry…Mineta is my best friend, Izuku. He's like a brother to me."

Izuku looks so confused, "But… But you always speak about him. He cooks for you, he is… he is here almost everyday for you, and he did all that stuff to piss off Bakugou for you, like a…"

"Like a brother would." You smile. "I do think that somehow our souls are connected, because I know I could leave apart from anyone, except him . He's that annoying sticky thing you get used to living with and don't want to unstick, because if you do something will miss. Because he's my brother. I wouldn't be able to live without his annoying ass." Izuku laughs with you. You walk back to sitting next to him as silence comes back. Then, you keep talking, "Mineta has been there when I had no one. Even when we were five years old and my parents died in a car accident, provoked by a hero-villain fight." Deku tenses, but keeps his attention on you. "We used to play heroes when we were kids and fantasize about how we were going to be Number One. Both of us, together. And then the accident happened. I was left alone. I didn't have much family around, only my old great-grandma that was barely suitable to raise a child. So I was given to the state. I went to an orphanage."

You don't know why you're baring your soul to Izuku like this. This was a painful, very intimate part of your history nobody knew but Mineta. Not even Bakugou knew. He never insisted for you to tell him. He simply accepted that you were Mineta's best friend, end of sentence. He never questioned anything. Now you wonder if that was a good or a bad thing.

"That's when your panic attacks began?" He asks a bit timidly. You nod.

"It happened that same day, when I was given the news about their deaths. A kind lady had been there with me, explaining what it all meant. She was kind, but she didn't have much experience. Imagine walking into a room as a kid where your parents are lying dead in two stretchers and being told these are your parents and you're not gonna see them anymore ." Izuku flinches again, a chill clearly running down his back. "A few hours later, I had my first panic attack. I lost consciousness for almost an hour. It was the longest one I ever had and doctors were worried not enough oxygen had gone to my brain, considering that even when I woke up I wasn't talking to anyone."

"Until Mineta and Auntie Asiki came to see me at the hospital. The second Mineta lay down next to me in the hospital bed, I started crying, and he held me. We were kids, not knowing anything about life, and he still understood that I needed him. Auntie Asiki offered to bring me home with her and Mineta, but the forms to the orphanage had already been filled and accepted. It would take a lot of money, lawyers and procedures to let her, a single mother, take my custody. And while her heart and intentions were hugely appreciated for even thinking about it, it was impossible."

"I didn't know Mineta's mom was a single mother." Izuku frowns, probably guilting himself about it, because of everything they, as class A, had been through their years at UA.

"He doesn't like speaking about it. He really has to trust you to tell you about it."

Izuku nods, instantly respecting that decision. He then scratches his neck again.

"So, you and him are not…"

You chuckle. "Not even if he was the last man on Earth." Izuku laughs too.

" Ouch , that wounds me so deep, bun," Mineta's voice is heard from the entrance as he walks inside your apartment.

Shit , you haven't heard him at all. The worry on your face is visible, because you have been talking about him, about his private life, and you hadn't consulted him before. You feel so bad, so worried he'll get mad at you.

Mineta sees you and simply shrugs, "It's okay, bun, I trust Midoriya." He then winks at you and you feel the worry disappear completely.

"Thank you, Mineta. I promise I won't speak about it to anyone."

"It's okay," Mineta answers Izuku, pulling his thumb up in his direction. You smile watching their interaction. "I'm not here though to have this conversation." Your best friend gets closer to where you are, a worried expression on his face. "I was told you had another one, in the middle of the street.." You sigh, looking down at your hands that lay in your lap. "Was it because of him again?"

You nod and Mineta is the one who sighs this time.

"About Bakugou?" Izuku asks then, frowning.

You nod again. "My therapist is helping, but yes, they appear after I remember something, random things he once had said to me."

"Why it doesn't fucking surprise me…" Izuku barks as he stands from the couch and walks, just like you had moments ago. Mineta opens his eyes wide, watching amused at Izuku's reaction.

"He's such a fucking jerk… But we already knew that, didn't we?"

Izuku immediately agrees with Mineta.

"I should have punched him harder," Izuku's comment makes you choke on the tea you were about to swallow.

"You what?!" Both you and Mineta speak at the same time. You look worried about the whole situation, the discussion clearly hadn't been a simple one if there had been fists involved. Mineta looks like a kid given the awaited present on his birthday.

"What really happened, Izuku?" You ask, worry clear on your tone.

"He saw the article, clearly. I came back from night patrol and was changing in the locker rooms, the whole night shift was there preparing to go home at the same time the morning shift was getting ready to start their patrols. And he started making comments about you and me, about how I apparently like his leftovers, about how you are a gold digger and now went for me."

"He did not fucking say that!" Mineta stands up, ready to beat some ass, Bakugou's, specifically.

"He did! I couldn't not do anything. I tried to be civil and only told him to stop talking about us, that he didn't know anything. And I told him to stop playing the victim, because he was none. The only victims in this story are you and me," Izuku looks at you like he's assuring you, "They don't have the right to even comment on this."

"Hell yeah, Midoriya!" Mineta cheers, raising his hand for Izuku to high five him, and the green-haired does, animated. You shake your head trying to hold your smile back. "What did corn-head say then?"

Izuku laughs at Mineta's nickname for Bakugou, bumping his fist again with the man in agreement.

You roll your eyes. Jesus , men are such idiots with nicknames.

"He then said that… I don't know if I should repeat it…" Izuku and Mineta both look at you, Mineta already intuitively knows.

"He talked… he talked about our sex life, didn't he?" You ask after a minute of silence.

Izuku nods.

"Tell me you did punch him hard though…" Mineta is fuming, you can see the smoke coming out his ears, metaphorically.

"Of course I did. Twice, before someone pushed me away."

"Well done, man." Mineta high fives Izuku again.

"You shouldn't… you didn't have to…"

"I won't let him or anybody speak about you that way, Y/N. Now that I know all you've been through, I won't even give them a chance to."

You move before you think, again. One second you're seated on the couch, and the next you're hugging Izuku. Arms around his neck strongly, as your face hides in your arm and his shoulder. It takes him a second, but he reacts by hugging back, strong arms surrounding your waist as delicately as he can, but also firm and securely.

You heard Mineta walk out of the living room towards the kitchen to entertain himself with anything.

And you feel… safe . You feel so safe in Izuku's arms, it's so comforting and nice.

You feel him take a deep breath over your head, as if your smell was comforting to him. You like that idea. That at least in something so insignificant like your smell, he finds comfort and peace. Relax and ease.

"Thank you, Izuku," you whisper only for him to listen.

He shakes his head, "You have nothing to thank me for."

"I do, though. Not only for those punches," you say backing away just a bit so you can see his face. He smiles proudly at the mention of the punches. "But because you helped me with my panic attacks… Twice."

"Twice?" He asks confusedly, but you nod.

"The first Friday we went to have a coffee, remember?" He nods, "I was waiting, and because it was my first time out of my apartment without Mineta I was feeling overwhelmed and… and then you appeared at the door. And all I felt was relief… I felt safe with you there, so it stopped even before it began."

You are looking at his eyes, and you can see the emotion in them as you speak. He then rests his forehead on yours and takes a deep breath, clearly pushing his emotion back in so he can speak.

"I'll be there for you… I want to be there for you, if you want me…"

"I want you," you immediately answer, "I want you to be here."

"Then I will."

"I also want to be there for you," you scratch the back of his head softly, as he bites his bottom lip, taking a deep breath. He looks like he's trying to control himself from doing something then and there, and that makes you smile.

"I want you . I want you to be there too." He repeats your exact same words, making you feel tingles all over your body as you feel his fingertips caress lightly, timidly, the bit of skin showing at your waist.

"Then I will."

You feel him moving, his nose caressing yours in a cute manner. Slowly getting closer, lips barely touching and…

"Sorry to be a cockblock, but your phone is ringing, Midoriya."

The bubble is popped , so you both back away, clearing your throats and fixing your clothes out of nervousness.

"Oh, yeah, ummm…" Izuku walks back towards the kitchen to search for his phone. "It's Shoto. He's probably heard already about the fight this morning. I should pick this." You nod, signaling to your room for his privacy and he thanks you as he walks there.

Your eyes follow him until the door is closed, and then they go towards the kitchen, where Mineta is standing, hip against the counter and a bowl of snacks in his hands he found somewhere, eating them slowly as he looks at you accusatory. A knowing smirk in his face.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything… yet."

You roll your eyes. "Spit it out." You walk towards him, picking some of the snacks on the bowl and eating.

"I have nothing to say, Y/N."

That's impossible, he always has something to say.

"Or should I call you Ms. Midoriya from now on?"

Ah, there it is.

You punch him in the arm and he laughs out loud.

PART I - PART II - PART III

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avernusreject · 6 months

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Warning ya'll this is gonna be a long post. But please join my descent into insanity, as I deep dive into the vague wormhole that is the durge betrayal pre bg3 timeline.

Before we start, it’ll help if you have context around the faerun calendar. There are twelve months in total, each having exactly 30 days. Additionally, weeks don’t exist in faerun. Rather months get broken down into chunks of time called tendays, which you guessed is literally just ten days. If that was too straight forward for you, don’t worry, they add in five extra days to the calendar that fall outside of the months (ngl I still have no idea where these are located) to make the full year 365 days.

At the beginning of the game, the nautiloid crash occurs at 20 Eleasis. Which means, the game starts in the middle of summer. Obviously, the way you play the game is going to influence the speed of events, but for my playthrough I reached moonrise towers around 12 elient (total time being 22 days). When you get to moonrise, in Bathazar’s chamber you can find his journal that explains that Kressa (the crazy necromancer chick) managed to keep durge alive. This entry is dated “two tenday ago”. But in game, that makes no sense because we know that the nautiloid should have crashed around that point. So either Balthazar doesn’t understand how the Faerun calendar works (I mean same, my guy) or we have to change our frame of reference. I think its more likely that the implied frame of reference is the start of the game, 20 Eleasis (since the developers can’t control how fast the player goes).

If true, durge was saved by Kressa around 1 Eleasis. Her vivisections took place after this in the following days. However, durge is taken away before the end of the following tendays (at least before 10 Eleasis).

Now when you talk to Kressa in the basement of moonrise, she states that she found durge only hours after they had been given the tadpole.

In the fight with Orin, she states that when she attacked durge she carved out a hole for the worm (ignore the Half-Elf part, that's just from the moment Orin turns into durge during the pre-fight convo).

The part that we're missing is when specifically the tadpole was inserted into durge. But given how the game describes just how utterly fucked durge was, there's a high likelyhood that the tadpole was given to durge moments after their fight. Which if true, places Orin's betrayal at 1 Eleasis. Giving us twenty days till the start of the game.

The piece that threw me for a bit was this piece of the narrator's dialogue when durge examines the pod, stating that durge had no idea how much time had passed.

But the blood in the pod is still fresh enough that Astarion is able to ID it as durge & in another dialogue choice if you examine the blood further the narrator states the blood hasn't been there long enough to rot.

I think this dialogue is more explaining that durge is actively being tortured by Kressa so time feels unending (kressa being the one who put them in the pod to begin with).

I've seen in other posts that Gortash's draft memoir explains that Orin's betrayal occurred during or just around the crowning of the brain (I don't have a screenshot of that unfortunately). But we have to take that with a grain of salt because Gortash is the definition of an unreliable narrator.

Personally, I don't think he's lying though. Orin's betrayal occurred in moonrise and there's really no other reason that Orin and durge would be in moonrise that the game has provided. Not to mention, the warden explains the last time that durge was in moonrise, they never left.

I don't think durge came to moonrise more then once given the fact that the warden, who had clearly been there a while, had no clue who they were. I find it hard to believe their identity would be kept under wraps had they been at moonrise multiple times. Employees have to gossip about something.

I think its likely that Ketheric, Gortash, and Durge tamed the brain in the days leading up to 1 Eleasis (like ~20 to 30 Flamerule).

In summary, the dead three had a Phineas and Ferb summer vacation by deciding to create the cult of the absolute.

And yes if you are wondering this is how I look now.

#the durge timeline makes me want to scream sometimes #the dark urge #durge #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #enver gortash #orin #kressa bonedaughter #balthazar #durgetash

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sardonic-the-writer · 1 month

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𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥

↳ summary: everyone knew you loved your lazy sundays. but that didn't stop them from bothering you

↳ warnings: mentions of fights and ponyboy getting jumped. nothing serious

↳ notes: could be interpreted as platonic or romantic with whoever you like. just some silly times

↳ song: we're gonna move—elvis presley

masterlist | commissions | carrd

Sundays at the Curtis household were normally calm.

Maybe it was because that was the day before school would start up again for Ponyboy— it used to be that way for both him and Sodapop until his big brother dropped out —or maybe it was because that was the lords day; at least according to the bible. Whatever the case, you knew you could always rely on an unlocked door and comfy couch awaiting you each time you jumped the chain link fence in their front yard. Just as long as it was Sunday.

So, understandably, you were peeved when Steve Randal and Two-Bit had come bursting through the front door looking for a fight.

"Come on man!" Two-Bit, otherwise known as Keith Matthews by his mother and kid sister, but only by his mother and kid sister, was currently whining your name in a way that he would only do if he wanted something. "Those soc's deserve it for what they did to Pony yesterday!"

Warm sunlight from the clear afternoon day peaked through the window panes behind you, lighting up each and every crevice in the front room of the house. A great black and white picture show was running on the TV, the likes of which had captured your attention for most of the day as you lay on Darry Curtis' couch, only ever moving to help out with chores when asked by him or Soda.

You scowled from your spot on that same trashy floral couch as before, flipping Two-Bit off quick enough so that Darry didn't see you. Even though he was in the other room working on dishes with Soda, you knew he would be able to tell. He was magic in a way like that. Annoyingly magic.

"What's with the shake up?" Steve questioned through the cigarette in his mouth, looking down at you from his nose. "Just last week you were itching for a rumble, and now all you want to do is sit and watch TV like some bum?"

"Wrong. Now all I want to do is sit on the couch and watch cartoons like some bum." You corrected him with a bit of snark in your tone, knowing that he hated that sort of thing. You saw Two-Bit's lips quirk up in a smile from the corner of your eye, reminding you temporarily of the shared love of cartoons that the two of you held.

"It's Sunday." Soda strolled in from the other room with a damp rag in his hands, tossing it down on the couch cushions as he went to clap Steve on the back—the way he always did when he saw his best friend. "You know they like their Sundays, guys."

"Screw their Sundays." Steve scoffed without any real malice behind the action. "Dally's on his way over with Johnny right now to meet us before the fight. We just wanted to come and get you before they got here."

With a halfhearted groan you let your head hit the back of the couch. If Dallas was coming over, you knew that the gangs minds had already been made up. Dally could be awfully convincing when he wanted to get his way, and that was more often than not. Really there was no sense in arguing now, but sometimes you had less sense then you'd like to admit.

"I'll tell Darry ya'll are gonna start up a fight." You said in a last ditch effort to keep your lovely spot on the warm couch. You were just met with knowing smiles.

"Awh you know he'd let us go if we promised to not get anymore blood on his floor comin' home." Two-Bit's smile widened, and you knew that he could tell they'd worn you down. That's how it always went when they wanted to fight during an off day for you, and you should be more used to it by now.

With the beginnings of a slow chew on your bottom lip, you mulled it over. Despite what one could think about Darry, that he yelled at his brothers too much or was too hard on Pony, you knew he wouldn't hesitate to get into a fight of his own for one of his brothers, even if he had work the next day. And that was a stone cold fact.

The screen door to the Curtis home squeaked open for the second time in just a few minutes, the entrance giving way to two more figures in dark clothing and greased up hair. One was nursing a cigarette butt while the other swayed side to side in a nervous tick.

"Ready to split?" Dallas Winston let a puff of smoke escape his lips as he grinned, looking around at the small group that had gathered in the living room. Johnny Cade shuffled behind him, and despite the current situation, you made time to send a welcome wave in his direction. He nodded back with a light glint in his eyes.

"Most of us." Soda laughed at Dally's question, ratting you out with a single look in your direction.

"I swear to god man, we do this every time." Dally shook his head as if he'd been expecting this. He looked at you dead on, almost as if trying to pry an explanation out of you this time. You resisted the urge to scrunch your nose up as he did so.

"Don't worry Dal, we just got 'em on the fence." Two-Bit smiled, and you hated that he was right.

With a sigh, you dusted your lap off before getting up, ignoring the small cheer that came from Soda and Two-Bit as you did so. From behind them Johnny smiled that little smile of his.

Dally even let a small one of his own slip, and you cursed whoever decided to give him such long eyelashes. One wrong downward tilt of his head, and sometimes you felt like he could get you to do whatever he wanted if he just asked.

"I'm coming, but next Sunday if any of you so much as ask me into town, I'll start a fight of my own." You pursed your lips. Another cheer rose between the six of you, and somehow you just knew that next week the exact same thing would happen, just as it always did. Good thing it never really bothered you. Nothing these guys ever do would, even though you'd never admit it to them.

"And just to be clear I want you to know I'm only going because it was Pony that was jumped!" You raised your voice through the pre-celebration, trying to stop the smile breaking out across your face from growing any wider. "If it was any of you idiots, I'd go join the other side!"

Playful boo's broke out as Soda slung an arm around your shoulders. A hand was quick to fly up to your hair with an attempted noogie, but you shook your head wildly enough to hault it.

Leaving the security of the plush couch and the drone of the Curtis' TV, you found yourself walking down the street with Dally's cigarette between your lips, taking a puff of it before handing it back to him. As the white smoke drifted up into the blue sky above, you thought about the people around you, and smiled.

Now you just had to hope you wouldn't ruin yet another shirt with blood.

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preeningpisces · 2 months

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Unwind Me - Nanami x Chubby!Reader

Notes: In honor of my Nanami headcanons being the most popular, I wanted to dedicate my first fic to him!

Highly recommend listening to Anxious by Ginuwine to set the mood

Content: Fluff, smut, pwp, established relationship, f!reader, ya'll are sappy & in loooove

Crossposted on AO3

18+ content below, mdni, & enjoy 🧡

Freshly bathed, you fold and organize your clothes, humming a tune to distract yourself. The week was chaotic and today was exhausting, but you made it through and now have the weekend ahead of you. Your fiance, who is typically more dutiful than you, takes the basket off the bed and sets it aside. Ignoring the pile of clothes, he embraces you with arms wrapped around your waist.

“Yes?” You drawl, leaning your head back against his shoulder; he smells as clean as you feel. Kento hums and walks you back towards the bed, where he guides you to sit and lie back with a playful push. Your smile morphs into a grin, then giggling as your lover crawls over you, expression mirroring your own. His head tilts as if aiming for your lips, but lands on your neck, making you sigh. The kiss is soft, only brushing your skin, more akin to a breath than a touch. The tip of his nose trails a short line stopping just under your ear, where he captures the lobe with soft lips.

The slow, thoughtful traces torment you with arousal, but you know rushing him is foolish. Forcing yourself to be patient, your fingers dance along the planes of his body—not as gracefully as he touches you, but still appreciative in your own way. Yearning blooms in your core when his muscles flex and contract beneath your fingertips, as strong and reliable as he is. To your surprise, he tugs at your bathrobe. Seducing you for sex is standard for Kento, but trying to undress you so soon is unusual enough to rouse your curiosity.

“Eager?” The robe peels apart, and you lift yourself to aid him.

“Always,” he says as tosses the robe away, then nestles into your shoulder. He spends all-too long brushing and tracing, his touch ghostlike. “The laundry can wait.” Ah, he’s very eager tonight. It doesn’t come as a surprise. Work stressed you so much this week you’d pass out after dinner almost nightly. Kento was understanding, as he always is, but it’s been over a week since you’ve had sex. You’re feeling needy, too.

“But your shirts will get wrinkly,” you tease, knowing how fussy he is about his clothes.

“I’ll iron them.” The tepid response and the ticklish brush of your breasts make you laugh. He’s still clothed, while you’re naked, and it makes you feel vulnerable in all the best ways.

An impatient huff demands he kiss you, but he continues mapping out your body. Miffed by his stubbornness, you grab his hair to steal the kiss yourself, but he leans out of reach. With squeeze to your wrist he coaxes you to release him, allowing him to leave the bed and pull up the nearby chair. You give him a lecherous grin as he rolls his shirt sleeves to his elbows to reveal his sculpted forearms; the grin deepens when he loosens his tie and unfastens the top two buttons of his shirt. Hot thrill dances through you when he sits in front of you, his legs spread slightly. You expect him to grab you by your hips and partake in you like a man starved, but he does not. Instead, he leads you by your ankle, propping your foot on his lap where you feel his rising excitement.

Your brows shoot to your hairline, not sure why he has you naked on the bed with your foot resting on his boner. Honestly, you never pegged him as a foot guy. Before you can decide how you feel about your fiance having a foot fetish, he’s pouring the contents of a vial into his palm. He spreads substance over each hand, then coats your foot. Recognizing the consistency as oil, you’re relieved he wasn’t asking for a footjob.

The press of his thumb makes you moan so deeply it’s borderline pornographic; the reaction makes him smile. Deliberate pulses roll into your arches, reaching for every ache in your flesh. You melt into the mattress from the sensation and the adoration you feel towards him: the thoughtfulness, the care, the consideration. It doesn’t help the way he looks at you as he works, his gaze nothing short of enamored.

“You’re an absolute angel and a dream,” you say as you sink into the plush mattress, a rather pricey one Kento insisted was worth the investment. “What did I do to deserve such a good man?” Opting to focus on the massage, and never one to accept compliments, he remains silent. His fingers lace with your toes, and gently rotate your foot, easing tension you didn’t even realize you had. Then he stretches your ankles, pressing them at varying angles, your nerves lighting with a pleasant burn. “Why are you so good at this?”

“Googled it,” he says casually, as if this isn’t the sweetest thing a man could do. “You’ve been stressed lately, I thought you needed to unwind.” Mindful, Kento treats your other foot with the same care. You flinch when he thumbs just above your ankles, which are surprisingly tight. Before moving up your calves, he places a few kisses on your toes, making you squeak and almost kick him.

“Kento!” He only laughs.

Now you understand why massages are a seduction technique: he hasn’t kissed you, let alone touch anywhere erotic, and you’re already aching for him. Normally you’d desire nothing more than to pull him on the bed and sit yourself right on his cock, but you’re so relaxed you’d rather allow him to do as he pleases.

Once he’s satisfied with his work, he slips one calf on his shoulder and leans forward until he’s on top of you; breast squished by your thigh almost uncomfortably. The fabric of his trousers irritates your pussy, but you pay it no mind when you feel his bulge. Hair tickles your neck when he lavishes it with kisses, and you buck against him and wrap your arms around his broad back. Tensions rise when he grunts in your ear, reciprocating with a roll of his own. This only lasts a few moments before he frees himself and abandons you to sit against the headrest. Resisting your lazy haze, you peel yourself from the mattress and crawl to join him, his warmth calling to you. You attempt to straddle him, but he stops you.

“Turn around for me,” he says with a twirl of his finger, and a look of promise. You comply, but before you can lean back, he places a throw pillow between your bodies. Aware of your confusion, he says, “so you’re comfortable.” Kento wraps his arms around your shoulders, cupping your jaw to angle you and give you what you’ve been craving. The kisses are slow and deep, the delay making them all the sweeter. Tongues touch sparingly, only dipping briefly or skirting along the seam.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he murmurs as he adjusts behind you, hooking his foot around your ankle to spread your leg, your second pushed open with a press to your soft inner thigh.

“Kento,” you say in mock offense, “so dirty tonight.” Your fingers trail down to your center where you’re so wet you both hear the sticky sound of contact. Lips spread, you idly trail along the folds, making him suck in a breath. Surprise tingles in your spine when he presses his palms into your shoulders.

“Don’t stop.” It’s difficult to focus on your movements while he massages your muscles, but the gentle command compels you to obey and give your best effort. Your sounds increase tenfold, unused to the mixture of these sensations. “You can do it, don’t lose focus now.” His encouragement awakens a need for his approval. The pillow, while doing a lovely job of supporting your lower back, denies you the pleasure of feeling his erection. It takes several moments for you to stroke your clit properly, but eventually you glide in tandem with Kento’s touch. A well-placed press into a knot makes your stomach lurch and tighten. It almost feels too good.

Upping the intensity, you rub circles around your bud, gathering and sweeping your essence to hasten the movement. Your pussy clenches around nothing, empty, longing to be stretched. The mere thought of Kento’s thick cock splitting you open makes you whimper. Frustrated, you bite your lip.

“You haven’t put them inside you at all, have you?” he asks, as if sensing your problem. You nod, and he doesn’t hesitate to snake his arm around to meet you. “Were you waiting for me? Do my fingers feel better than yours?”

“Fuck, yes. They feel so much better.” His fingers trace the rim of muscles, appreciating your slipperiness and teasing the hole, now trembling in anticipation.

“Keep doing what you’re doing for me, okay?” With no further warning, his fingers sink into you sharply, making you throw your head back with a keen. A squeeze to your hip reminds you to continue when your touch fumbles. “God, you’re soaked,” he groans into your neck, relishing how wet his fingers become.

“It’s all for you—please don’t stop.”

“Eager?” He mimics you coyly. Seated behind you, his fingers barely reach past your g-spot, so he relentlessly strokes the spongy tissue.

“You touched my feet, of course I am. And you’re knuckle-deep in my pussy.”

“Crude as always,” fondness warms the disapproving words. You don’t respond, because he’s caressing your insides, pulling sounds from you. The attention makes you fuzzy, and your head lulls on his shoulder. Wet sounds and soft moans fill the silence. Kento’s hot breath on your ear makes reality even more distant.

Before you can enjoy what your fiancé offers, he’s sliding out of you and reaching for the nightstand. You whine his name, but he is quick to ease your suffering. A smooth, rubbery texture that is all too familiar bumps your fingers, and wordlessly asks to take over. As soon as you comply, it whirs to life and sends a jolt of pleasure through you. Loosening his grip, he prompts you to hold the device and resumes the massage, now fixating on your knots.

“Ah!” You arch your back, but his firm hold on your shoulders prevents you from straying. The reaction doesn’t deter him, as his thumbs roll into your rhomboids, which would have made you crumble if he wasn’t supporting you. “Ooooh, Kento, that feels amazing.” To appreciate his efforts and remain coherent, you keep the vibrator on a low setting. The pitch in his breathing tells you how the words affected him, his ardency even more obvious when he sucks your neck with surprising force. A kiss tends to the wound before he repeats on the other side, lips worshipping your skin. Next, he eases the aches in your traps, transforming you into putty.

“Turn it up, sweetheart,” the request makes you clench, and you do as asked. The thrum makes you whimper and squirm while he grunts, the pillow grazing his cock. “You’re so tense here. Is the pressure alright?” The question makes you flutter; while dirty talk excites you like anyone else, nothing turns you on more than Kento’s attentiveness. You nod vigorously.

“It’s perfect-ah-I think my boobs pull on them,” he maintains his pace and pressure, mouthing at your jaw.

“Makes sense.” He cups your heavy breasts, supporting them before rolling your nipples. “I can’t say I don’t appreciate them, as selfish as that is.” He squeezes them cheekily, and you murmur his name in appreciation. One hand rests on your neck, pulling your head back and urging you to present your lips. This kiss is the messiest of the night as you spill all your noises into his mouth, tongues and teeth flirting; right breast teased as he rolls and pinches your nipples at random intervals.

“Fuck, baby,” you whine after he sucks your lip into his mouth and twists your nipple, now shamelessly bucking against your toy and subsequently rubbing his cock through the pillow. Buzzing circles around your clit, you smear your wetness loudly enough for Kento to hear. Your breathing picks up, becoming choppier and pitching higher; your eyes squeeze shut as you chase the high. Kento reaches down and ups the setting two notches, making your head roll to the side with a shout.

“Going to cum?” He asks, even though he knows the answer—he just wants to hear you say it. When you don’t respond, he tugs your hair, forcing your head back up. “Look at me,” his voice is low and breathless with exhilaration. You force your eyes wide open, graced with his intense stare. Brows furrowed, eyes dark and blown with desire. You’re about to answer, but the grip on your hair and the look on your lover’s face make you fall apart. Despite your best efforts, your eyes fly closed as you shudder through your orgasm with a silent, but open mouth.

“Good girl,” he coos, kneading your breast and nipple as you come. Excited, he grinds his throbbing cock against the pillow, searching for relief. Delight floods your heart when you he praises you. After several moments of panting as you come down, he says hotly into your ear: “can you do it again?” You tug him down for a sloppy kiss.

“Mm hmm,” already rolling against the vibrator again. Occasionally, you jerk and remove it from sensitivity, but you can’t resist the temptation to come again. “You’re making me greedy,” your voice lilts with humor.

“It’s not greedy—it’s what you deserve,” he says, and urges you forward onto your stomach, one of your arms trapped beneath you to keep hold of the toy. Lying on your vibrator is odd, but it doesn’t dull the pleasure, and the position makes grinding easier. Kento attends to the muscles in your back he couldn’t reach before, your moans stifled by the comforter. Seeing your hips move, chasing your pleasure makes him harden more than he thought himself capable. The sight of your ass and thighs is almost too much for him to handle.

His fingers don’t shy away from the soft rolls of your back, neither lingering nor avoiding. Kento has always treated your body with respect, never fetishizing, while simultaneously making you feel like the sexiest woman alive. Thoughts of his reverence only make you more desperate to come, eagerly humping your toy, unknowingly tormenting Kento with the display. He had been working on your lats, but as if compelled, he lands an appreciative smack on your ass just to watch the flesh jiggle.

The impact makes you whimper and push back against his hand, wanting more. Your reaction makes him smile—how can he deny you when you ask so sweetly? He traces the spot, drawing more tingles to the surface. The muscles of your back and shoulders tense—waiting. It’s only when they relax he rewards you with a second, hitting the same spot as before. You purr, one of your legs curling behind him. Large hands squeeze both cheeks, enjoying the thick flesh between his fingers. Your heartbeat jumps when you hear the clink of his belt unbuckling and the undoing of his zipper. He slides his fingers into you, which you rock back against, not immediately realizing it wasn’t his cock.

“I want your cock,” you say almost petulantly, the blanket stifling your dissent as you meet his thrusts with fervor. “I’m ready for you. Please, just fuck me.”

“Not yet,” he places apologetic kisses on your back and shoulders. “I want you to cum again.” His fingers pulse against your g-spot, keeping a targeted, unrelenting pressure.

“Well, I’d cum faster if you put your dick in me,” you quip with a look over your shoulder, as awkward as it is from your position. This earns you another swat to your ass, which makes you grin. Knowing he won’t budge, you steel yourself and turn the setting up a notch. You mewl, and would have jerked away, but he presses your lower back down, trapping the vibrator between you and the bed. His fingers speed up, matching the intensity of the new setting. “Shit, shit, shit-” you cry, both chasing and running away from the sensations.

The bed dips as Kento hovers over you, and whispers in your ear, “you’re alright; relax, sweetheart.” Despite his soothing words, his fingers don’t relent. “Breathe,” his voice is even lower, and his fingers stroke with more precision. His cock rests between your ass cheeks, which you wiggle to egg him on. Every muscle in your body is straining, on the brink of snapping, but you have complete trust in him—you always trust Kento.

Just when you’re ready to let loose, he pulls his fingers from you, and the spear of his cock silences the complaint that bubbles on your lips. The sudden stretch elicits the perfect sting, causing you to yelp. So wound up, it only takes three shallow thrusts to make you come with a full body shudder. The squeezing of his cock makes Kento growl, and waste no time rolling his hips against your ass, his elbows resting on either side of you.

“Fuck, oh, fuck—Kento!” You grip the sheets with your free hand, as overstimulation sets in, the other becoming cramped from the odd position and your weight. His hand pins yours to the bed, intertwining your fingers as he pants in your ear. The room fills with a cacophony of noises: grunts, moans, sticky wetness, and the slap of his pelvis against your soft body. Still wet with your excitement, he taps at your lips in question. You open your mouth, happily receive the gift—licking and sucking his fingers lewdly, the way you treat his cock.

“Haa,” he breathes shakily as he removes his fingers. “You squeeze me so tight—shit,” he groans and rests his head rests next to yours, and wraps you in a hug as he grinds deeply, barely pulling out. “I won’t last if you keep doing that.”

“Good,” you clench around him, “I want you to cum; I want you to cum inside me.” The response makes him groan, and fuck you harder. The vigor of his thrusts causes you to release the vibrator, now left to vibrate against the sheets and your thigh, which Kento hasn’t seemed to notice. His thrusts become sloppier, his deep sounds slip into a breathy tenor, signaling his approaching release. You aid him by bearing down when he enters, and squeezing as he retreats, earning you a softly whined swear. He pushes himself up and away from you, pulling out once more, squeezing the base of his cock to control himself.

Quickly, he rolls you over onto your back and re-enters you, setting a rapid pace. He snatches the vibrator, clicks it two settings higher—almost at its max—before pressing it against your overused clit, and you arch off the bed with a shout. Deciding that wasn’t enough, Kento pushes your chubby mound upward, exposing even more of your pussy to the sensations. This makes you thrash, the feeling so intense you don’t know what to do with your limbs.

“You’re so beautiful—I love you so much,” admiration grits through clenched teeth. His thrusts become more passionate, and his voice more wanton. You raise yourself to your elbows, giving yourself the leverage to meet his thrusts.

“I love you too!” you squeal when he rubs the vibrator in circles, feeling overwhelmed with emotions. “I need you-” you gasp, losing track of your thoughts. “Fuck, I need you t-to cum in me,” a shiver wracks his body, and he nods drunkenly. “Need you to fill my pussy up.” These are the magic words, because Kento surges forward to kiss you almost aggressively. The two of you rock and pant into each other, and suddenly you’re both exclaiming your release, unsure who came first. Warmth floods inside as he pumps his cum into your depths, filling you entirely. There’s more than usual from the brief respite in your sex-life, you note with perverse glee.

Kento turns the vibrator off and tosses it aside, before laying beside you and trapping you in his sturdy arms. You take his hand in your own, and press your thumb into the meat of his palm, rolling out the tension. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. The two of you remain connected, needing to be close, and enjoy the comfort of each other’s bodies in peace.

“I want to give you a back rub during sex, too,” you eventually disrupt the tranquil mood. “The only solution is to peg you, I’m afraid.” Kento smothers your face in his chest to silence you and your cackle.

“No.”

“Say what you want, but your dick twitched just now.” Kento shakes his head and pulls out, his cum following and seeping into the comforter. “I’m running a bath,” he announces and leaves the bedroom. You call out to him with an outstretched hand, but it flops, too boneless to argue.

“Will you at least carry me?”

Though you can’t see it, Kento smiles. “I said you needed to unwind, didn’t I?”

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs appreciated! Let me know if there's anything you want to see from me. 🔸🧡🔸

#nanami x chubby reader #chubby reader #nanami smut #nanami x you #nanami x reader #will probably continue to edit if notice mistakes LOL #I’m nervoooous this is my first fic here #divider by saradika #fics ☽#dreams of nanami ☁︎#dreams ☽#wet dreams ☽

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haliteatiger · 18 days

Text

Happy Werewolf Wednesday, ya'll! We're serving up a big pot of tea tonight so get those cups ready!

Special thanks to Blackbackedjackal and King for their help in putting this together, editing, and especially to Jackal for being so supportive and encouraging. I'm very much not normally the type to do call-out posts, but people need to be aware of Dogblud, as she has hurt, not only myself, but quite a few others as well, and seems to have somehow gotten away with behaving like this for 20-odd years. I'm of the mind she shouldn't be allowed to do so any more, hence this post.

TL;DR - Beware of Dogblud, aka Ashryn, aka DogofBlud, aka ThatDogMagic. Very, very long post under the cut.

With everything happening with DogBlud and Blackbackedjackal's studio, I felt emboldened to come forward with my own experiences with her. This is something I've been carrying around since it happened roughly 2 years ago. It was one of the main reasons that put me off drawing werewolves, my own characters, or engaging any more in the fandom. I've hinted at it a few times but I've never had the energy to come forward and deal with the fall out. I wanted to move on with the rest of my life because IRL was more important than online drama. And I knew her behavior would come back to bite her sooner or later, regardless of what I did.

It's been very validating to see that I was right.

It was around the time that Blud and I became friends that I was feeling a bit burnt out on werewolves. I'd been trying to pull together my own werewolf-related project for something close to 12 years. The past 4 years had also been pretty draining on me creatively and socially, as it had for a lot of artists with regards to the pandemic. I also had some IRL things I was dealing with: mainly with my marriage and transitioning between medications to manage my anxiety + bipolar.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the foresight to screenshot everything at the time. I do have logs from back when we roleplayed together. There are several conversations in them but because they were saved as text documents, they're pretty dubious in terms of solid evidence.

It would have been better if I had taken screenshots as it was happening, rather than just saving the logs. With what I *do* have, however, I feel as though it may be enough to make the point that I'm trying to make, and to exhibit how horrible things got.

I'll provide some context.

I had talked with Blud on and off over the years, and we had always gotten along. We had a lot in common and after we had started talking more, our friendship eventually grew into a collaborative project. We were going to combine our stories and write a comic based on it. We had a lot of discussions on how Blud was reticent to do this in the beginning and how she wanted a contract to be made up so that in the event that something *did* happen, we could both walk away feeling like it was handled fairly.

Honestly, I should have listened to the first alarm that went off in my brain, when, in an act of ominous foreboding she said something along the lines of don't be so sure, it could happen. It was in response to me being like "we're getting along so well and share so much of a bond right now. I can't fathom that being a problem!"

The contract never materialized. It was something we had decided to do *after* we had put together something of a prototype project to see how well we worked together. It made complete sense to me at the time as we were both eager to focus on the fun parts of writing and drawing together.

It was decided that I would be the lead artist (doing coloring and final lines) while Blud would do everything else (which was inking, layouts, and the majority of the writing). The both of us felt that she had more experience in those areas. I also believed that she had a better knack for it as well. I had felt that she had a better understanding of story structure than myself. And I thought that Blud had felt the same way about my art. That I had the experience to take point on that.

Since I had collaborated with other artists and writers before, I attempted to approach the project with the same sort of professionalism I always do. Especially the projects that I genuinely thought stood a chance of being published in the future. We had started out trying to get a feel for each other's flows and rhythms. I had expected Blud to try and meet me in the middle of where our processes would potentially differ from one another, so that we could develop a fairly smooth workflow.

I had also expected, according to our discussions on the matter, that we would value each other's opinions on things and take them into consideration. We had such good synchronicity already.

In the beginning, there wasn't any unusual behavior that caught my attention. Blud was a bit uncomfortable with trying out new things but I did my best to accommodate her so that our project could move forward without too much turbulence. She had also mentioned to me before that she was autistic, and since my husband is also autistic, I knew how difficult it could be when it came to adapting to new routines. But when it was time for her to deliver the first set of layouts, it wasn't at all what I expected.

What I had expected was something with margins, clearly marked boxes, and figures that I could do rough lines over. I also expected notes that confirmed what we had discussed earlier about the project; that way I knew what she wanted or if there would be any changes. She took offense to this, feeling like I was violating our agreement. Though Blud did try to give me space with regards to the actual art, and while she would offer criticisms here and there, I trusted her opinion as an artist and as a friend. But apparently that didn't go both ways. In fact, Blud seemed to be offended that I expected more from her.

Blud agreed to concede. She suddenly seemed fine with the changes that I had asked for after seeing the layouts. I guess she was feeling overstimulated by the change and I might have been applying too much of a critical tone to her responses to begin with. I have had to deal with rejection sensitivity throughout my life and it's certainly prompted me to approach what people say to me online with a bit of scrutiny (sometimes too much).

And while I was mildly annoyed, although admittedly I was more concerned with Blud's overall reaction to my asking for clarification about several things in the layouts, I let it go. But it seemed like there was a problem. The majority of my ideas were either rejected or outright overridden with Blud convincing me that my faulty memory had made me unable to remember what we had agreed upon. Or that I might have been misremembering in my own favor.

There was one time where we were discussing a monster's design. Blud had already decided to settle on one design that she had come up with, even as I continued to offer other suggestions. The story was to take place in my setting, so I was under the impression that I got to decide what kind of creatures should populate it. The conversation ended somewhat ambiguously. I had assumed that we'd come to a solid conclusion later.

I came back the next day and it turned out that we were using her design because that was what we had decided on. "Don't you remember? You really need to do something about that faulty memory of yours, Tek. I can't be doing this for you all the time."

At which point, Blud would go back and meticulously scour the conversation until she managed to find a set of lines that would make it seem as though I had 100% agreed. Even when I tried to explain that I had meant something else, she took it as an affront on her inability to understand nuances due to her autism.

I admit that my memory isn't that greatest at times, but I've never had anyone complain about it before. And none of my friends have ever minded providing reminders to me if I did misremember something incorrectly. We all forget stuff at times, right? It's *still* something that I'm self-conscious about because (like a lot of people with ADHD) my memory seems selective at times. This was, apparently, a problem that I needed to manage.

And even as I'm remembering these incidents to the best of my ability, I've already spent so much time recounting all of this to friends. I feel confident in my recollection. There are some details that may overlap or become entwined with other things, but it all basically tells the same story. Especially in conjunction with what's been said by others. You're free to take it as hearsay since I do not have screenshots to back this up.

I will mention (since I've been told it's something that Blud has taken particular interest in) that at one point, I did have a crush on her. I was having some problems IRL, and it was nice to have someone whom I felt actually understood me. I also felt like I saw a lot of myself in her. I think that, at one point, I did describe her as the kind of "girlfriend" I would want. Blud seemed to indicate the feeling was mutual.

Between our collaborative partnership and all of the details we shared about our lives, it did feel like an intimate relationship at times. I had no intentions of pursuing it. We were not compatible in our romantic and sexual identities, and I had no intention of leaving my current partner for her.

I had begun to notice red flags, even if I wasn't ready to accept them yet.

I've had experience with abusive relationships in the past but they were in person, and not online. I knew what to look out for and yet I was being willfully ignorant about our friendship. I wanted to give Blud the benefit of the doubt. I wanted the project to work *so* badly that I was willing to work with her increasing demands as the months went by.

I had no idea that those demands would change into, quite literal, temper tantrums. It would then trigger my fawning response which was due to an abusive family situation that I had dealt with before I moved to Canada. The tactic was this: concede to someone until there was a time that they either understood reason or I had the chance to use it against them if necessary.

I started to take screenshots. I wish that I had taken a lot more of them so that everyone could get a better idea of what was happening. I did go back and manage to record the majority of the first outburst. It was the first inkling I had that Blud wasn't playing with a full deck of cards. I knew that that would be one of the first conversations that she would promptly delete. And consequently, I was right.

This assortment of screenshots will exhibit the first serious confrontation that Blud had with me. I am absolutely *not* proud of how I handled this. I was literally panicking at the time and doing whatever I could to get her to calm down. Because I have a temper that can look similar to this in person, I knew that I had to wait until the post-tantrum clarity would hit Blud. I tried my best to not lose my own temper in turn but looking back, I feel that I came off as sounding too timid.

I didn't want to ruin this project.

I wanted to make a comic with an individual that I admired and respected as a fellow artist. And, with me not knowing how to respond, my main priority was to not make things any worse than they already were.

Below is the conversation in its entirety:

I had taken this screenshot on my phone after I had stepped away to compose myself. Blud had handled the confrontation and criticism with a reasonable amount of apprehension. But what had not occurred to me was that I could have said something that would remind her of past experiences with a roleplaying group.

It was something that had evidently scarred Blud for life.

I took away the wrong things from what she had told me, choosing to focus on the aspects of the "betrayal" that had appeared to bother her the most. And in hindsight, I did not see the correlation. I was genuinely apologetic that I had hurt her feelings.

But I *will* critique Blud for her poor handling of the situation. Whether or not I had hurt her feelings, no one is entitled to act like this or claim that this is what attempting to resolve a problem should look like.

I wasn't sure on how to initially respond to Blud. It had been ages since I'd had to deal with someone flying off the handle like that.

The following screenshots are where the conversation picked up, after she had already deleted the above message:

We had weathered the "storm" and after Blud calmed down, she was ready to communicate. There was a part of me that was genuinely sincere when I apologized to her. I did mean it when I said that I had no intentions of hurting her and that I hadn't considered how my statement would sound to her.

I had hoped that this had been a stress response due to factors outside of our collaboration. And especially when I took into account how she had interacted with me in the past. I knew that Blud had a lot going on IRL, and that she had already put a considerable amount of energy into this project.

I had taken her meltdown more personally than she could perceive that I would, because this was something that was acceptable to her. She had a "condition" that would absolve her of these abhorrent meltdowns and I needed to get used to them if we were going to continue working on that project together.

I was shaking the entire time we were typing in the chat.

I was sincere in my responses. I really did want to work things out with Blud and give her the benefit of the doubt. I could have been taking the things that she said too personally or maybe I had been reading too much into the situation. Was there a chance that I could have been misreading her outburst? I tried my best to keep an open mind though I was still somewhat baffled by the fact that she would have meltdowns as often as she did.

I confided in my husband and some other friends about the situation. They were also bewildered by Blud's actions.

By this point, I was struggling with the reality that this collaboration was most likely *not* going to work out but I still wanted to try. I still cared about Blud. We would still hang out together and talk about things like music, our characters, or our stories.

While I did have the foresight to go back and screenshot this section, I wasn't fast enough to get screenshots of everything else that I will be going over. Blud *did* admit to going back and deleting certain exchanges due to a mixture of shame; not wanting to look at them when she would scroll through our conversations.

In retrospect, it was very telling.

And even after that meltdown, I still enjoyed the friendship that I had with her. I kept my guard up but I was willing to make compromises on her behalf if it resulted in better communication between the two of us. Blud made me promise to immediately tell her if I had a problem with something. I also agreed to keep notes of our conversations.

It worked for the most part.

In the end though, it became apparent that Blud wasn't willing to do the same for me (even after we had an extended conversation about it). I then realized that I had been tasked with basically *managing* her autism for her. I was already busy with my supposedly "bad memory" at the time; and Blud was more than ready to scroll back up through our conversations to cherry-pick a line or two of text to remind me of what was said earlier.

Because, for her, circumstances couldn't ever change. If they did, it would mean that Blud had lost control of the situation and that she was in the wrong. She could *not* be in the wrong.

And if she was in the wrong? It would take solid evidence, three witnesses, and a court of law to prove it.

She had two other major meltdowns after this. I managed to step away from communicating with her through one of them and I don't remember the other meltdown lasting very long. She immediately deleted the texts of both of those instances before I could take screenshots of them.

It seemed like I could do nothing right when it came to Blud, no matter the lengths I would go to accommodate her. I knew that it was a common tactic used by abusers. I finally accepted that our partnership wasn't going to work out and I began thinking about an exit strategy. The final straw was when she began to expect me to be at her beck and call.

I had promised that I would be there for her, within reason, and I was willing to offer reassurances whenever she would ask me for them. The promise had been made back when we had first started to talk to one another with more frequency, before Blud had shown me her true colors. I would end up completely underestimating just how badly she would need reassurance.

To be frank, I underestimated a lot about Blud in the beginning.

I would end up mentioning that I enjoyed my space in several different conversations with her. That there was a chance that I might be offline for several days so I could take care of things IRL and recharge my social batteries. I'm somewhat of a recluse. And an adult who enjoys things that aren't online.

She said that it was fine.

I became incredibly anxious when I would talk to Blud, especially after her somewhat abrupt change in personality.

I then attempted to put my foot down about boundaries and this is what she had to say:

I decided to walk away for a bit and I came back after I had had some time to think things over. This wasn't healthy for either of us. I wrote a couple of sentences to say goodbye to Blud before I blocked her. I knew that my actions would probably infuriate her. She had told me in the past that she *hated* not being able to have the final word... which she was able to do through email:

“And I'm not letting you pretend you have control over the situation, or the high ground. You distinctly have neither. But since you're determined to stick to your 'principles' on this, I've decided to make it easier for you.”

She thought that she was absolved of all sins just because I had said that I would stand by her at her worst. And at the time that I said that, I had no idea that her worst would be her trying everything possible to protect her boundaries while stomping all over mine. It didn't matter what she said or how often she would apologize when I would confront her. She kept doing it.

I admit that I wasn't perfect in this situation either.

There were times when I was condescending, critical, or downright mean when I talked to Blud because that was the way I had felt when she was talking to me. I soon realized that it didn't matter either way. I could have been using the friendliest tone imaginable and she still would have perceived it as either mocking or dismissive on my end. There were even a few times where I would preface my explanations with an advisory “please know that I am not attacking you and try to read this in an understanding tone,”etc. I would then post an explanation I had spent hours picking at to ensure that there was no way she could misinterpret the intent. Even so, she still read the majority of what I said as criticism and would take it to heart.

I never expected Blud to do something that made her uncomfortable; nor did I expect her to overextend herself when it came to our project. I would go out of my way to make sure everything was fine when we would talk about it. I only expected mutual respect in return.

When we would get into discussions (arguments), she would never attempt to understand my point of view or let me explain myself. It would have made it about me when it should have been about Blud and her needs. She sometimes would agree to come to a compromise about something, but only if I would admit that I was in the wrong.

I know that if Blud was to look at these screenshots, she'd be incredulous that I'm trying to distract from the horrible things that *I* did. And those horrible things that I did? I tried my best to work with her.

It wasn't just her poor teamwork that bothered me. It was her attitude and the lack of respect that she showed me. She would never ask me to clarify something that I said; always assuming that it was a criticism against her. I can only speculate that Blud did not want to hear about how any of this was her fault, like in the email she sent me.

I don't know if I was actually her friend at any point. Friends make efforts to understand one another. Ideally, they’d want their friendships to continue, and they would want everyone to be getting along and having fun. She seemed to actively defy that.

I would argue that things like this don't just happen in a vacuum. There's almost always a reason for such things, but it's honestly a mystery to me as to where this vitriol comes from. I don't know why Blud sees monsters in every word, especially if they come from a "friend".

I've seen her viscously mock herself during meltdowns; it seems like she hates herself and expects everyone else to hate her too. I think that she wants it to be the truth, so that it validates the feelings she has about herself. The behavior patterns that I'd been exposed to are consistent with the idea that Blud is seeking confirmation about the personal assumptions she has about herself. It's what makes her so volatile to those around her. Yet, she refuses to break the cycle.

I hope that she can make that choice in the future but at this point, I'm not holding my breath.

#dogblud #it feels a bit dirty doing a call out post #but people need to know #she's gotten away with this for far too long #i generally tend to give people the benefit of a doubt #clearly too much #but you can only make up so many excuses before you begin to realize that #at the end of the day #people still have the ability to make a choice #“everyone always leaves me”#well maybe you should really consider what the common variable is #just sayin

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kurogane2512 · 6 months

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I see so many breeding fics with some family-oriented characters like Childe, Arlecchino etc but rarely ever with Signora.... Ya'll can't tell me she wouldn't be into it. Okay, granted she wouldn't want it immediately but HEAR ME OUT

I very much believe she wanted to have a perfect little family with Rostam but ofc it never happened. Then eventually her body lost the functionality (could be due to liquid fire or just ageing as she's literally 500+). Then due to all the tragedy she became completely untouchable as a Harbinger and suppressed these 'maiden' desires but.... what if she starts thinking of them again when she finds new love? UGH IDK I JUST WANNA BREED HER SDOHWOEIFHWF

Fluff + Smut below

Reader has a cock but no gender stated (I imagine g!p but others are also welcome)

It was another cold winter night at Snezhnaya when you returned home from work. You were exhausted and wanted to immediately rest, you opened to door to your room only to be met by an unexpected yet pleasant sight.

"Oh, welcome home, my love~" your partner, Signora, the 8th Harbinger of the Fatui was already back and currently undressing herself in your shared room. You watched her dress slide down her exquisite body as soon as you entered and almost became flustered despite having seen her that way plenty of times by now.

"Ah, sorry, I should have knocked...." you averted your gaze and she simply chuckled before beginning to walk towards you, a small smirk adorning her beautiful face.

"Well, you came back at the perfect time. I was just going to take a bath so...." she paused before sliding her hands down the lapel of your coat and leaning in to whisper seductively, "Care to join in?~"

All the exhaustion from before suddenly vanished as you speedily undressed and walked in the bath together with her. The tub was already filled with warm water, a scented bath wash and rose petals. Signora stepped in first and sat on one edge then pulled you inside and made you sit in her embrace, your back facing her as you comfortably rested back on her body.

You relaxed together as the warm water seeped in your skin and rejuvenated you, complimented by the feeling of your lover's presence and touch. Signora wrapped her arms around your waist and rested her chin on your shoulder followed by planting soft kisses on it, you giggled from the ticklish feeling and she only continued doing that more to tease you.

"How was your day, Rosa?"

"Mm, just the usual.... Jester still doesn't allow me to take field missions, says I need to continue resting and that others are handling them...." she sighed in dejection then cuddled into you.

"Do you feel bad?"

"Certainly, I understand why he says that but it just makes me feel worse...."

She sighed again and embraced you tighter before continuing, "But at the same time, it's not so bad. I get to come home early and spend time with you more~"

She pecked your cheek as you chuckled together. La Signora would have never said that until a few months ago, nothing mattered to her over her mission and Tsaritsa's dream. She was a ruthless and untouchable Harbinger of the Fatui, the people who had sworn their life in service of their Queen. Such frivolous moments of pleasure and indulgence were useless to her, yet she could no longer ignore the feelings rising in her recently.

She pondered about your current situation, the way you were lying in each other's arms in a warm bath with no care of the outside world. Everything felt perfect. She could never picture this scenario for a long time, she knew her life was drastically different. Yet, the bliss and relaxation of this moment caught up to her. She could picture a life with you, living together as any ordinary family even when there was nothing ordinary about you both.

Her thoughts almost scared her, how could she? How could she have these feelings again? She was supposed to have forgotten them, she was supposed to have embraced the pain she suffered and look forward to a future the Tsaritsa promised. But she could no longer ignore the beating of her heart right now as she pictured you both living together somewhere faraway in a little house of your own, with a perfect family of your own....

"Y/n, I wanted to ask something...."

"Hm, what is it?"

She remained silent for some time which caused you become worried, you sat up and turned to face her and saw a rather serious look on her face.

"Rosa? Are you okay?"

She nodded then spoke, "....Have you ever thought of having.... children with me?"

The question surprised you to no end, your eyes becoming wide in shock.

"W-Why this all of a sudden....?"

Her brows furrowed, "Just answer.... Do you want to have a family with me?"

You fumbled on your words, "I-I mean....Uh, y-yes I do but family doesn't necessarily require...c-children, you know?"

"Then.... you don't want children with me?"

"T-That's not what I meant! I-I...." you trailed off and struggled to reply, unsure of what was happening. You looked at her expression which was filled with a strange sense of longing and affection, something you had never seen on her before.

"....Ideally, yes, I would want to have a family with you, a proper family but...."

"But?"

"I know it's not possible and I don't want you to blame yourself or anything, I accepted our situation long ago and am perfectly fine with the way things are...."

Signora's eye widened now; of course, how could she forget? How could she forget the limitations of her own body, one of the many prices she had to pay for her sins. How could she even for a moment think she was deserving of wanting that perfect life?

"R-Rosa, what happened? Why did you ask that?"

You became increasingly worried as she stayed silent and looked down, you had no idea why she had this thought now of all times. You were well aware of everything that had happened to her and how her current condition was, you had accepted it all the moment you fell in love and never thought of anything more. Yes, a perfect family life would indeed be ideal but you never bat an eye to it.

"I...." she finally spoke and looked up to meet your gaze, her eye filled with tears which she held back from falling then suddenly lunged forward to embrace you tightly.

"I imagined that life with you.... living together as a family, away from all these things, doing simple jobs, having children and raising them together....and much more." she confesssed her deepest desires and you were speechless.

"....Did you want all of this in the past? Before.... things turned the way they did?"

"Somewhat. I never pictured it too far but.... I suppose it was the dreams of a young maiden heart who fell in love with a knight, to gaze upon each other and think of a future together...."

Your grip almost tightened hearing that, you understood what she wanted to say.

"But I no longer think of it that way.... I hadn't had these thoughts until recently and now I think of you in them, even if it's not possible anymore...."

She cupped your face and lovingly gazed at you with a small smile before kissing your forehead, "I'm sorry for this, you don't have to brood over it. Just.... think of it as a silly little thought."

She let go of you and proceeded to step out of the tub then dry herself with a towel, you pondered for a moment then stepped out as well and suddenly hugged her from behind.

"....Let's do it then."

Signora was caught by surprise, "What? What are you saying, Y/n?"

"I'm saying let's do it. Let's have the perfect life you want."

"B-But, Y/n—"

"I know, I know what you want to say. And I mean.... let's have that experience at least, that feeling.... Even if in the end nothing would change, we can still experience the feeling a little."

Signora was shocked at your proposition but pondered over it a little before turning around to passionately kiss you, "Yes, let's do it."

The next few moments happened in the blink of an eye as you two made your way over to the bed while kissing and clawing at each other. Neither of you required any prep time, you were needy and desperate enough that she was soaking down her thighs and your cock was throbbing hard. This wasn't going to be your usual session, no matter how passionate and hardcore your previous sessions had been, this was going to be completely different.

"Do it deep and hard, Y/n. Breed me like you mean to, impregnate me like you would!"

She pleaded while holding you close, your cock rubbing against her eager folds. Hearing those words only made you want to do it more, you wanted her to feel what she wanted. You pushed inside soon after, penetrating her hot walls and sliding to her deepest parts. She arched up feeling you push so deeply, her legs dangling over your shoulders to give you the best angle.

You didn't have to be fast, you only wanted her to feel you deeply and understand how much you wanted this. Your thrusts were moderate and controlled but everytime you made an effort to push deeper than before, to explore the spots you had never touched before. Her angelic moans resounded in your ears, your hands fondled her supple breasts and you leaned down to suck her hardned nipple, causing yourself to push deeper.

She gasped at the feeling, your hard and thick member was filling her up so well. It indeed felt different than your previous sessions, perhaps it was really due to the fact that the purpose right now was different. You pushed her legs closer to her chest, folding her in a mating press as you angled even deeper and continued pistoning in and out.

"Yes! Yes! Do it, my love! Cum in me! Give it all to me!"

She chanted her sinful thoughts as if she was lovestruck, you cock splitting her open then suddenly felt a rush of hot and thick liquid fill her insides. She arched up as you filled her up with your seed, pushing in every single drop and ensuring none fell out.

"More! Y/n! Do it more! I want you inside more!"

You needn't be told twice. You flipped her to lay her on the stomach and she automatically stood on all fours and you hilted deep in one go. You moaned at the contact together, her back arching down as you began pounding deep and hard. This position was even better than before, you were deeply connected with each other and no obstacles were in your way.

"Aah!~ Yes! Right there! Yes! Mmmmm!~"

You grinned looking at her figure, she was moaning out so messily and needily, nobody could imagine her this way. You suddenly held her hands and pulled her up to make her stand on her knees and hugged her close, your face being buried in her neck as you continued thrusting. She almost whimpered feeling you inside, your right hand roamed down her abdomen and pressed on a particular spot as you slowed down your movements but still kept going deep.

"Feel it here.... Touch it, feel where I am~" you whispered, making her move her hand to the same spot as well and she could feel it, your cock was making a small buldge every time you thrusted. She couldn't describe how she felt at that, she could see how deep you were, feel the lining of your cock deep inside her as you pounded into her. She wanted this forever, she wanted this so much.

Your hands were busy playing with her breasts now, pinching on her pointed nipples. She moaned so loudly, breathless gasps leaving her lips as she couldn't take her hand away from that place. Her other hand looped around your neck and pulled you closer, giving you the chance to kiss and suck on her neck.

"Aah...I told you, Rosa.... I'll give you that feeling.... Do you like it? Mhm~ Is this what you wanted?~"

"Yes! I feel you so deep! I love you, Y/n! I love you so much, my darling! Keep going! Fill me up all night!~"

Well, if she kept being this way then you could indeed go all night. She was irressitble to you, so tempting and captivating. You let go of your hold on her and pushed her down in an arch again, roughly gripping her hips and squeezing them as you fastened your thrusts. You came another bout, thick ropes of cum painting her insides and filling her up once again. But you were far from over, and she knew that too- she wanted that.

You ended up in so many positions all night, tossing and turning each other and finding yourselves all entangled with desire. She was now on top of you, straddling your lap as you rested on the bed and she wanted control now. She aligned your hard cock with her cunt and pushed it all the way in, immediately touching her deepest part. And she wasted no time to grind and bounce on your cock, she wanted to milk it dry and have every last drop of your cum inside her.

You gripped her waist and thrusted up as well, a delicious rhythm forming of your bodies. She then leaned forward and deeply kissed you, your tongues intertwining messily before leaning back and continuing to ride you. Her walls had a deathly grip on your cock, it was evident she was going to keep you inside all night. You had lost count of your orgasms, the amount of times you came inside her but she was ready to still hold more.

"Mmmm~ Cumming, my love... Aaaah... Y/n! Together.... come on, inside me! Breed me!~"

And yet another spurt of cum deep inside her, she too came at the same time and arched back with a loud guttural moan. Your bodies were still connected, you sat up and embraced her as you breathed out together. You nuzzled into her neck and she softly caressed your hair, the feeling of your cum drip down made her feel euphoric.

"I love you so much, Y/n... Thank you for this." she whispered in a low voice and you smiled to yourself before suddenly turning over and placing her on the bed, your dick still inside.

"We aren't done yet, I still have lot more to give. You'll hold it in, right?~"

She smirked then pulled you down by your jaw, "Who do you think you are talking to? That's not even a challenge for me~"

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin women #la signora #signora x reader

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mt-oe · 2 months

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𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐—modern mizu x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

Thank you so much for appreciating my fics. I honestly didn't expect to receive requests for a part 2 and ya'll are making me melt aaaaaa <3

Link for the first part? Mwa!

I hope you'll enjoy this one too!

Enjoy, love! Mwa mwa :*

warnings: not proofread, smut (mdni!), very mild violence, alcohol, misgendering (bc mizu appears masculine), she/her for mizu and implied afab reader

I don't really know if she knows or not But I left some things in her jewelry box And she's wearing out my rings Taking the compliments meant for me

"Damn...I look like absolute shit."

You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself after waking up from a post-cry nap. Your eyelids were very puffy and your lips chapped despite being slightly swollen. The eyes that were once filled with life were like empty pits, holding no emotion.

It had been a few days since you've retrieved your items from Mizu's apartment. Thankfully, your friend had a spare room in hers and allowed you to stay for a few months until you were ready to be on your own again. If it weren't for your friends, you'd probably have a hell of a time trying to recover from your break up.

Well, you were still struggling but at least it's a start.

That wasn't to say that the moving out process was any easier though. Seeing Mizu's frown when she opened the door made you want to pull her down and kiss her until the corners of her lips turned upward. But you couldn't, your relationship wasn't like before anymore.

Her eyes watched you as you carefully removed the trinkets you had placed on her shelf. The little neon characters and toy babies were now in a cardboard box as if the two of you didn't joke around about them being your 'babies'. Your clothes were already in separate box. The goofy t-shirts she had given you as a way to make you laugh were taped shut.

"Are you really going to take everything home?" she sighed out, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. The frown on her face never left and her eyes remained as aloof as ever.

You glanced at her briefly before turning your attention back to her shelf. Fingers running across the wood, past her jewelry box, trying to remember if you had left anything else. "Don't talk to me."

Mizu rolled her eyes at your cold response. It was understandable, but that doesn't mean it didn't annoy or hurt her in any way. She pushed herself off of the wall lightly before walking off to the kitchen. The feeling of you being this cold was not something she could bear at the moment.

As she left, your fingers traced back to her jewelry box and opened it. The earrings, rings, and necklaces you always wore were still there. Your throat tightened at the sight, remembering how you had bantered with Mizu for being so 'unfashionable'.

Before you, she had only worn plain silver bands around her fingers, saying that 'she didn't need anymore than that' and 'they're just rings, no need to be special'. But of course, you knew her long, slender, yet rough hands were too beautiful for the bare minimum.

It took a while to convince her, mainly because she secretly liked seeing you try so hard for her, but you finally got her to try out your rings. The feeling of having more accessories on her hand was odd to her and there were definitely times the accessories got snagged on her hair, clothes, and other things. However, the feeling of having a bit of you with her comforted her. It was adorable honestly. You even ended up leaving the rings she often borrowed from in her jewelry box.

And now, you were staring at the same rings placed snugly in the velvet-y confines of the jewelry box. A sigh escaped your lips as you took your earrings and necklaces back, but for some reason, you really couldn't bring yourself to take your rings back. A small tug in your heart felt that maybe she'd wear them and remember you.

"It is what it is," you mumbled, trudging back to your room. Your room looked like a shit storm. Clothes were strewn haphazardly across the floor, the trinkets you once displayed on Mizu's shelf were now scattered on random surfaces, and the books you bought but never read were...well they were still rotting on a random corner.

As you were about to lay down, your friend knocked on your door before opening it. The sight of you merely rotting in bed made her eyebrows furrow but it quickly disappeared as she walked in. "Want to drink somewhere?" She leaned sideways against the wall, cross her leg over the other.

You were about to refuse but the image of your exhausted self and the aching loneliness bothered your mind. Nodding at her, you stood up again. As if silently communicating with you, she gave you a relieved smile before leaving the room to give you some space to get ready.

Once the two of you had arrived to the club, you immediately sat down, waiting for your drinks to arrive. The music was blaring through the speakers and the smell of sweat, alcohol, and the mix of people's perfume lingered around. You were usually up for some partying but the ache of your heartbreak drained you this time around.

As your drinks arrived, you poured yourself a shot, not even bothering to wait for your friend. She was probably already dancing with someone somewhere. Your eyes scanned the crowd, people-watching as you downed the shot, the burn of the alcohol making you cough a bit.

Some how, it was peaceful for you despite the dancing, hollering, and even the strangers making out with who ever. Even your friend's return to the table, clearly having stolen a bottle of beer from another table, didn't bother you. Maybe you were finally attaining peace for the first time in a while. Maybe all you really needed was some alcohol to forget about Mi—

"Hey, isn't that Akemi?" Your friend asked, pointing at the sofa near the center.

What the fuck?

And although I think I'll miss them At least there's proof of my existence A captive little soldier on her fingers Deep behind enemy lines

You almost spit your second shot out, the alcohol almost traveling to your nose, making you retch over as you coughed in attempt to get the liquid back to your mouth again. Your watery eyes scanned over the crowd once again until you finally saw her. It really was Akemi. If she was here, Mizu was bound to be here too, right?

Panic with a bit of anticipation settled in you as your eyes tried to find your ex.

No. She wasn't here.

A sigh of disappointment escaped your lips upon sitting down.

Wait. Disappointment?

The hell?

"I-I'm going to dance for a moment," you told your friend. There was no way you're disappointed in Mizu's absence. You were going to find another way to move on.

As you made your way through the crowd, dancing and mingling with others while you sipped on your beer, a woman approached you and began flirting. The interaction made you feel awkward at first. A mix of panic, intoxication from the alcohol, and slight flattery was boiling inside you.

The woman flirting with you invited you to their table, to which you agreed. She introduced her friends to you, sharing drinks and stories. Some time later as you were interacting with them, she had slung an arm around you and pulled you close. It wasn't a touch that you were particularly comfortable with, but another shot with a Heineken as a chaser fixed that.

While you continued to interact with them, you noticed the lady's eyes staring at someone through the crowd. "His rings look expensive," she told you, pointing towards someone. Your eyes looked at where she was pointing at and widened.

Fuck it was Mizu.

And she was with someone else too. The woman she was with continued to play with the rings on her hand as they sat down, giggling and talking to her. They looked so happy and your ex looks like she had moved on. You continued to stare, not believing the sight, until your eyes met. You quickly sat back down, trying to calm yourself down.

Your vision was blurring either from the tears or from the alcohol or maybe both. The music ringing in your head as it continued to boom throughout the venue.

The lady you were with looked at you with concern before leaning closer to your ear. "Let's take this somewhere else," she whispered, giving you a smile. You nodded and stood up with her, making your way outside onto an alley beside the establishment.

I still have your lighter I still have your book I still have everything you brought, but you never took

The lady watched as you took out a cigarette, placing it between your lips before you began rummaging through your bag for a lighter. "You don't seem like the type to smoke," she joked in an attempt to ease your mood.

She was right. You weren't the type to smoke. In fact, you only started after your break up. The same night, you bought a carton of Marlboro Blue because you saw Mizu smoking it when she was still just your hallway crush. The image of her leaning against her motor bike, smoking while smiling lightly at the sight of her friends bantering was one that never left your mind.

"I learned from someone." You lit the cigarette with the lighter you had found in your purse before inspecting it. Your eyes widened as you realized that it was Mizu's lighter, making you choke on the smoke.

"It's him, right? The tall dude with the nice rings? The one with the blue eyes." The lady patted your back as you continued to cough, frowning when you nodded. She watched you smoke for a moment before moving closer towards you.

Your eyes looked...Bothered. Like you wanted to go back in there and thrash the table, to ask Mizu who the fuck she was with.

The turmoil in you continued to brew, rising and rising until it was almost overflowing. The image of Mizu with another woman burned into your memory. You wanted to storm in, to make a mess, to ask her how was she able to move on so fast while you...

You were still collecting the pieces of yourself that had fallen apart.

In midst of your thoughts, the woman you were with had grabbed you by the shoulders and pinned you against the wall. "Let me teach you something better." She placed a chaste kiss on your lips before lifting your shirt, placing a trail of kisses from under your bra until she was kneeling down, face-to-face with the button of your jeans, looking up at you.

You sighed, a cloud of smoke escaping your lips before you took another puff from your cigarette. This felt wrong. The idea of hooking up with someone while you were still in love with your ex felt wrong.

"I...I can't do this.." You lightly grabbed her by the chin, moving your hips away from her. A look of confusion flashed on her face before she moved slightly closer. "Oh c'mon, just on–"

"She said back off," a voice cut her off.

You know where to find me And I know where to look

Before you could even utter a word, a ringed hand had pulled the woman away from you, prompting her to stand up. Deep blue eyes narrowed at her before roughly letting go of the woman's shirt.

"Now get lost."

The woman glared at Mizu, seemingly sizing her up for a fight. But Mizu was tall, well-built, and quite intimidating. Everything you wanted in a person, but clearly not someone you'd want to fight.

A 'tsk' left the woman's lips before she raised a middle finger, storming off. Mizu then turned to you, raising an eyebrow at the cigarette between your fingers. "I thought you didn't smoke?" she scoffed, eyes narrowing at you. " ...And blues? Really?"

You merely stared at her, unable to form a word. Maybe it was the alcohol or the nicotine making your brain lag but there was only one thing running through your mind: She was here. She was with you. She pushed a woman away from you. She was questioning why you were smoking. She..She..She...

Shit.

She was here. In front of you.

Mizu's eyes narrowed further at your lack of response. "What?" She moved closer to you, towering over you. The distance between the two of you was so small, it was like she was suffocating you against the wall.

"Why are you here?" you asked trying to keep yourself calm, breathing the smoke out through your nose. She glanced away for a moment, looking a bit guilty before turning back to you. "I...Akemi told me she saw you here."

Your eyes widened in surprise. You expected her to be with Akemi, but you didn't expect her to come just because Akemi told her you were here. "And that matters why?" you asked, eyes now narrowing.

She sighed and moved away a bit, more of the guilt appearing on her face. "I wanted to see you."

The beating of your heart increased as you looked at her. She wanted to see you? Why? You dropped the cigarette you were smoking before stepping on it, grinding the heel of your foot on it more than you needed before looking up at her. "You're joking," you said in a serious tone, looking intensely at her.

"I'm not I–" She was quickly cut off with you giving her a shove. "I saw you with that woman. I'm not stupid, Mizu."

She looked at you for a moment, clearly puzzled which made the rage in you boil much more. "The woman you were with. The one play with your rings. My rings." You clenched fist as you shoved her once more, glaring at her.

Your eyes started tearing up and you began smacking her arm, a mix of your emotions and alcohol making you lose all inhibitions. "You have no idea how much pain I've been in because of you! All I wanted was for you to be there for me and you fucking left me!" she yelled, your careless smacking progressively getting more forceful.

"Then, when I'm finally trying to find some fucking peace for myself, you waltz in with some woman and act all chummy chummy buddy buddy in front of me?! And now you expect me to fucking talk to you and welcome you back?! I'm not a fucking idiot, you motherfucking bi–" She cut you off by placing you in a loose headlock and shoving a hand over your mouth, glaring at you.

"You mean Kaji's daughter," she stated calmly, letting you go once you stopped thrashing around, clearly confused. "Oh for fuck's sake–Akemi's friend. She asked me to pick her up as payment for telling me where you are." she groaned, rubbing an annoyed hand across her face.

Oh.

You still glared at her before looking away, shoulders slumping. "Well why didn't you say so earlier?" you asked, frowning at her. She looked at you with mild annoyance, wanting to argue that you were too busy smacking the shit out of her arm, before suddenly chuckling. The annoyance melting into fondness and amusement, Damn, she missed you like this.

Her arms gently wrapped around you, pulling you closer as she buried her nose against your hair. "I miss you," she mumbled, closing her eyes. You couldn't help but freeze before finally softening up and sobbing, leaning closer to her. "Why'd you leave me?" you sobbed softly against her shoulder.

Her throat tightened at the sound of your crying and sniffling. Making you cry was the last thing ever wanted to do. "I was wrong. I thought we both needed a break from each other but I...I ended up missing you," she sighed out, holding you tighter. "I guess I took you for granted and I'm regretting it so much. I'll do anything to get you back." A hand wiped your tears away before lifting your chin up. "I'm sorry.."

You looked at her, gulping the lump in your throat. The apology was so silly to you. Mizu apologizing to you in such a horribly put together yet sincere way was not something you expected to see and it amused you. "Just kiss me, you fool." you giggled before pulling her head down and planting your lips together.

She kissed you back almost immediately, placing a hand behind your head and the other on the small of your back, pulling you closer than ever. It felt so good to be held like this again. To have Mizu in your arms and you in her's. The kiss deepened as your tongues explored each other's mouth before pulling away, a thin line of saliva connecting your lips.

Without another word, you knelt down in front of her, hands clumsily unzipping her pants. "W-Wait." She pushed your head back gently, covering the lower half of her face with her hand to cover her blush. "What's wrong?" you asked, looking up at her.

"I don't think I deserve to be treated like this right now especially after what–" You cut her off by continuing to undo her pants and pulling it down along with her panties slightly. Your nose buried itself against her bush, making both of you groan, her's slightly louder.

Using your thumb, you spread her folds open before sticking out your tongue and giving her cunt a long slow lick, relishing the moan that came from her. Despite being such a quiet person, Mizu really was loud when it came to intimacy.

The hand she previously used to push your head away was now gripping your hair, encouraging you but not pushing you. You began licking her clit slowly, drawing circles with the tip of your tongue and flicking it occasionally. Your other hand gathered the wetness that slowly dripping out of her, using it to coat your fingers before slowly pushing it in her hole.

Her grip on your hair tightened as her face scrunched up in pleasure, moaning loudly as she leaned back against the wall. You curled your fingers inside her, massaging that area you knew made her see stars. "Fuck, dove...y-you're so fucking good at this," she moaned out, bucking her hips closer to you.

You smiled against her cunt before giving her another long and slow lick, sucking the bundle of nerves towards the end. Your eyes looked up at her as your tongue began licking her clit faster. She was panting and moaning loudly, blue eyes half-lidded, and a dust of pink covering her cheeks.

"'m so close...holy shit," she moaned almost desperately, hand now pushing you closer. With her head tossed back slightly, she climaxed onto your fingers, letting our a loud choked back moan against the back of her hand.

She panted for a bit before looking at you as you pulled your fingers out slowly. You stared back at her, gazing into her blue eyes as you licked the cum off of your fingers slowly, sucking on it before releasing it with a wet pop. "Good girl..." she panted out before pushing herself off of the wall and pulling her pants up.

As soon as you stood up, she looked at you with a soft gaze before pulling you closer to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. "I guess...we're back together now?" you asked, intertwining your hand with hers, walking out of the alley together. "'m kinda glad you took me away from that woman earlier though," you laughed.

"Kinda feels like thievin' or stealing," you added. An amused grunt left Mizu's throat before she placed a short sweet kiss on your lips.

"Just felt like taking what's not mine," she mumbled against your lips.

That's thievin', stealin', takin' what's not yours

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